1971

At first, being a human was quite wonderful. It seemed as though all of the things I had once dreamed about had suddenly become possible. I had a mother, a real, kind, human mother who took care of me and bought me food and clothing, even a guitar. She did all she could to make life perfect for me, and all I had to do was abide by a few simple rules.

First, I was not allowed to be seen out at times when other people my age were in school. She didn't want me to get picked up by the police for being truant. Second, although I was allowed to socialize, I was not allowed to invite anybody over, and if anybody asked about my schooling, I was to tell them that I was homeschooled. Third, I was not allowed to drive, it was simply too risky. I felt that Mama's expectations were reasonable, especially since she had given me such a generous gift to begin with.

Of course, life could not be perfect, and problems arose. There were parts of my former life that stuck with my personality and could not be changed. Being a doll, I didn't know much about human social situations, especially among teenagers, which caused me to be extremely shy and even socially awkward at first. Another problem I ran into was the fact that I could not adjust my taste in clothing. Regardless of what the popular fashion was, I could not bring myself to like anything that wasn't from the late sixties, sometimes causing me to stand out like a sore thumb. Though not ideal, all of these situations were manageable, but then the worst conceivable thing occurred.

I didn't age.

I can't explain how awful I felt when I discovered that. I must have cried for days. I don't think that I had ever felt so low, with the exception of Allan's disappearance.

"There, there," Mama sat at my bedside and tried to console me as I drowned in misery. "Don't give up already, my child. Perhaps you just age at a slower rate than most."

"Do—do you really think so?" I looked to Mama hopefully, my eyes brimming with liquid pain.

"We won't know unless we give it time," she assured, stroking my blonde hair comfortingly. "Don't give up, my dear. You are a wonderful, beautiful daughter, and you make Mama very happy."

To be honest, I almost felt like giving up, like asking Mama to turn me back into a doll, but if I made her happy, it would be terribly selfish of me to give up so soon. Besides that, she had a good point. I had not been a human long, and perhaps I simply aged at a different rate. Being a human was better than being a doll, anyways. I was flexible, and I had a wider variety of clothing and shoes. I had much more control over my life, and a greater capacity for emotion. And I certainly didn't need to worry about getting left behind in a park!

Mama was often busy, so after school got out, I went downtown nearly every day to walk around, shop, or buy a soda from the drugstore. There was a great thrift store downtown where I liked to buy my clothes, and Mama always gave me bus fare so I could get home at the end of the day. The bus would stop about a half mile from our house then I'd walk the rest of the way.

The bus did not come very frequently, and most evenings, I would sit at the stop for a long time, waiting for it. Sometimes a person or two would wait with me, and sometimes, if I was fortunate enough, I would even engage in simple conversation with somebody. One day Roger Hollingsworth showed up and changed everything.

Roger came into my simple life in such an ordinary way on a rainy day at the bus stop. I had been sitting on the covered stop bench for several minutes, my shopping bag and purse on my lap. I was fearful that the weather would make my hair go flat (bad hair days were a downside of being human) and was hoping that the bus would come or that the weather would improve. It was chilly, too, and I knew that I should have worn a warmer coat. Somebody approached the stop and stood beside me.

"Mind if I sit here?" asked a kind male voice. I quickly shook my head and he eased down beside me, causing the loose board to squeak. I kept my sight posed on the miserable dripping road and wished that the bus would hurry up.

"This weather sure is a drag, huh?" The man next to me shifted.

Realizing that he was trying to engage me in conversation, I looked over and replied, "It certainly is." My statement was blunt, cut short by the utter surprise that met me when I first caught sight of him. He looked almost exactly like New Talking Good-Lookin' Ken! What were the chances of finding a human who looked as handsome and sincere as Ken had?

"I wish that bus would hurry up." Fortunately, I think that my fascination with his appearance had gone unnoticed. "Not that I'm in a hurry to get home. Then the hard work starts all over again!"

"You must be a student," I replied.

He offered me a near-Mattel smile then. "Yeah, over at the U. Do you go there?"

I shook my head, shyly. "No, I'm still in high school."

"Sometimes I think that's even worse."

"Oh, I like school alright," I fibbed, never really having gone to school besides in Janet's games. That was one of the worst parts of being human: having to make believe so often. It was almost like just being a giant doll!

"At least you don't have to pay for high school. I work my tail off just to pay tuition, and that's after my uncle sends me a birthday check!"

I struggled to recall what I knew about college, which wasn't much. I always thought that it was just school for adults, not some horrible chore that you had to pay a lot of money for. I didn't want to appear naïve—as he seemed to think these things were common knowledge—so I decided to play it safe and simply nodded. An awkward silence settled in, and I wanted so much to chase it away, that I felt myself asking, "What are you studying?"

"Business," he replied. "And don't ask me what I'm going to do with it, because I don't know, yet." He almost laughed and produced a smile as lovely as the ones pressed into vinyl at the doll factory. There was something so charming and casual about this boy, and I liked him immediately. "Anyways, enough of these lame topics. What brought you downtown today?"

"I went shopping for a new dress," I told him, pleased that I was making decent conversation, and that such a dress sat in the shopping bag on my lap.

"Did you find one?"

"Yes," I nodded. "I found a sweater, too, and two skirts." I was especially pleased with the sweater, which had a wonderful pattern woven into it, rich with color.

"Far out! Sounds like a successful trip."

I nodded again, not sure of how to respond. It suddenly struck me that he might like to see my purchases as Mama always did, and I reached into the bag, pulling out the dress. "This is the dress I found. Isn't it groovy?" I held it out for him to see. It was a lovely mod dress in a bright striped material. I had just the pair of Mary Jane shoes to go with it!

He seemed caught off guard at first, then offered me another casual smile. "Yeah, nice."

I proceeded in showing him my skirts—both basic a-lines—and the colorful sweater. He agreed that they looked nice as I folded them and returned them to my bag.

"You have very unique taste," he said.

"Thank you," I replied humbly, trying to accept his compliment with grace. It was one-on-one conversations like those that often made me nervous. I still had a lot of learning to do before I'd be confident in my ability to carry on conversation. In the life of a doll, the little girl who owns you makes so many of your lines for you, the only time you really get to be your own self is after she goes to bed.

We talked about various things for a while, like sports and school and music. He liked to talk about college sports and his job at the department store. He also told me that played electric keyboards and performed with a group sometimes. He really was a very interesting boy, and as I listened intently, sometimes pretending that he were Ken.

"We're called Terrazzo," he said, telling me about his band. "We play at lots of dances, and sometimes we even play at a club or two."

"That sounds very interesting," I genuinely replied. I couldn't imagine having enough bravery to perform in front of a group of people. It had been hard enough just to strum and sing the Troggs in front of my good friend, Ken. Being in a performing band sounded like a very brave feat, one that I certainly couldn't imagine doing.

Not long later, the bus pulled up and we climbed aboard. I sat in my usual window side seat, and my college-aged companion sat beside me. We talked more, about music and sports and those kinds of things as the bus flew through the torrent. He was truly a charming boy, and I secretly wished that I would have the chance to talk with him again.

"Well, here comes my stop," he said as the bus began to slow. "It's been a pleasure talking to you."

"And you," I replied, smiling gently.

"Maybe I'll see you again, sometime." As the bus came to a complete stop, he stood. He smiled at me in farewell and turned to enter the aisle, then paused turning to face me. "I'm Roger Hollingsworth, by the way." He offered me his hand, and I shook it, revealing my own identity.

"Francie Fairchild."

"It's been a pleasure, Francie. See you around." Leaving me with that and a name, he vanished off of the bus until the next day.