The herstory is buried. Nestled inside the dolls. An abandonment of identities lying on the stairs who fit between the wall and the spindle. Pressed with the decision at two years old to leave with my mom or stay with my Oma. Knowing I want to stay, but seeing the look on my mother’s face. So many times I didn’t choose her, and the echoes scream throughout my life. The signs she didn’t want me all along are prickles in the cloth of the night. Notes of songs that jumble together as a lullaby, not from divorce, but split between mother and grandmother. The abandonment of the tick of the metronome of the violinist, the footfalls of the ultra runner, the hands of a cash thief, screwed onto the nubs of tattooed arms of the reading specialist. The yogi, the former stepmother, etc, etc.
The dolls not ordered by size, date, era or label. Their colors not aligned with anything except what my favorite was at the time. A contrast to the emptiness surrounding the pieces of me. The dolls are glass that create a kaleidoscope. Energy that tingles with that moment before a firecracker explodes.
My heart slows to the eye of the storm before the anticipation. It is a drop of water moving slowly out of your ear waiting for the sweet release and the tickle to cease. The moment before the dolls are on fire. I’ve burned my life down so many times you’d think I could hear it by now or at least could recognize the system I have unconsciously created. I believed I had the craved meal . Abundance and a relationship supported by dreams. I didn’t order the burning this time. One is throwing a fit and lighting herself on fire so she can be taken out of the sequence. She is a pain in the ass. How many versions of yourself do you carry? What I need is to protect myself from myself . Two people from my past lives knock on the door and move like raindrops.
Tammy —
Great title and I love how you carry it through the piece. It is a very eerie story. The second paragraph is beautiful with the image of the kaleidoscope and the energy that tingles!
I think I undertand the metaphor of the dolls on fire and life … subtle burning throughtout the piece. (Like something always on the verge of exploding.)
LOVE the question of “How many versions of yourself do you carry?”
And stunning ending.
This needs to be out in an bigger world … submit!
Cheers,
Kristen
hi Tammy,
thanks for sharing.
the nested metaphors of dolls as kaleidoscope glass work for me as both aesthetic image, and a deepening revelation. Lots of brilliant phrasing, embodied sensations, and dry humor around a serious topic.
the entire piece resonates with me, as i begin caregiving for my 87 year old mother with dementia, knowing that relationship is one i had to choose, after so many years of choosing to stay away.
Hello Tammy.
You do a beautiful job of cataloguing collapse and abandonment within a life out of control.
It’ not clear to me how I should take each element, such as ‘the dolls are on fire’. followed by “Ive burned down my life so many times…’. Your writing is bewitching in a good way.
An earlier phrase is so powerful: ‘I didn’t choose her, and the echoes scream…’an so much more so raw! Curious how the ‘division’ (Oma/mom) early in life seems to carry through, and the self blame onto a 2-year old s a result. Understandable and very descriptive. Very imaginative piece in many ways. ‘…protect myself from myself’ feels like an ownership, admission of complicity/responsibility, and the last phrase a sense of compassion for these forces on a life – and leaves a sense of shock in me. Can the narrator finally recover somehow by assuming some ownership. I hope & expect that is the difficult path of this story.
Best. j
Love this. The notion of a catalog of abandonments. And coming down to the self in the final paragraph: “I’ve burned my life down so many times you’d think I could hear it by now or at least could recognize the system I have unconsciously created.”
My favorite lines: “She is a pain in the ass. How many versions of yourself do you carry? What I need is to protect myself from myself.” Brought me back to the beginning: “An abandonment of identities lying on the stairs who fit between the wall and the spindle.”
Made me reflect on the course of a life – how many identities one steps into and out of; many only seen in retrospect. Thanks for sharing.
Hi Tammy, wow, this is powerful. A sort of coming into one’s own, in a sense, identity, and a reckoning with the biological choices thrust on us. And the dolls, both the physical essence of “doll,” (I thought of russian dolls, one buried inside another, etc.). That reflective, unanswerable question the speaker asks toward the ending: “How many versions of yourself do you carry?” POW! And ending with the people showing up from our ‘past lives.’ A reckoning, perhaps? Certainly the speaker is wrestling with some larger issues here. A fantastic piece and the title sets us off.
This first-person narrative about abandonment is powerful and, for me, mysterious. I don’t know what to make of these lines: “The abandonment of the tick of the metronome of the violinist, the footfalls of the ultra runner, the hands of a cash thief, screwed onto the nubs of tattooed arms of the reading specialist. The yogi, the former stepmother, etc, etc. “There’s a lot here, and I think the other readers have appreciated its depth.
The way you describe the dolls is amazing. Glass that makes a kaleidoscope. Gorgeous. And this sentence: “Energy that tingles with that moment before a firecracker explodes.” I love that one of them is lighting themselves on fire. I’ve done that, too, but never expected a Russian doll to! I love the note you end on: “Two people from my past lives knock on the door and move like raindrops.” Move like raindrops is excellent.
Tammy:
The protagonist in this story creates a powerful nod to abandonment and self-doubt. “The metronome of the violinist” is one of favorite lines. The narrator asks, “how many versions of yourself do you carry?”
For me, the sentences you write force me to peak into a mirror. How much of this character is specific to her own experience and what measuring glass of this existence is imbued into my own internal world and insecurities? I’m not sure but it sure gets my gears moving.
“Two people from my past lives knock on the door…” makes me feel like I’m inhabiting a French existential play. Lovely!