I am walking home from the farmers’ market; it is a lovely lazy Saturday—might have been around noon. The air smells of lilacs, and the light is all blossoms and shine. My deaf old terrier is trotting happily in front of me; he is delighted to see so much activity. It stimulates more sensory activity. Poor little thing. First, he can’t hear the beginning of Quadrophenia. Second, other dogs can surprise him from behind.
But everything is good on this Saturday morning—maybe even blissful, as we are so happy to be living downtown now.
Then I hear a faint voice: ‘Please help.’
We stop short. Well, I do. It takes a second for my dog to notice.
I scan the neighbourhood. I can’t see anyone except for a young couple holding skateboards in a mall grip a few blocks behind. Tsk, I think.
‘Lady with the dog, honestly, please help me.’
We take a couple of steps ahead and then I see her, on my left.
I move up alongside her. ‘Is it you? Are you calling for help?’
‘Do you see many other women stretched along the sidewalk?’
‘Oh. Well, no. Just you. So far.’
She lies there looking up at me. My dog has just stopped, looking forward. He has no idea I am talking to a Barbie lying on the sidewalk on Nicola Street.
‘So, look. You’re a Barbie.’ I think it is good if we lay the ground rules. It’s like a Composition 101 class—that’s how I am shaping it in my head. ‘We should….”
‘Oh my god. It’s Barbee. BARBEE. Seriously, why are you stereotyping me? You don’t even know me.’
I am pretty much stunned at this. Honestly, I am just walking my dog to the farmers’ market and back. I got some kale. That’s it. ‘Barbie. I mean Barbee. All is well. It’s just…. Well, you are lying on your back on a downtown sidewalk on Saturday morning. I’m just saying, it doesn’t look good.’
‘All of you people who live down here because you can afford it now are so judgmental. I have feelings.’
I can’t really say much here. She might have feelings. My dog sits down.
‘I really had my sights set on last night. You can see I totally dressed up.’
‘Well, I have to say, you sure did. That is a beautiful blue ball gown. Is that a tulle shell behind?’
‘I guess it is! And check out my shoes.’
‘Well, I did check out your… shoes.’ I am kind of shy to go on, really. I just want to leave it here. I have stuff to do—I am binge-watching Orange is the New Black, for example. I am feeling pretty hipster, moving downtown and all. But I just can’t fudge it. ‘It’s just that there is only one shoe. Were you hurt?’ My heart is already overwhelmed for this doll on the sidewalk.
‘Wow. That is unbelievable. How could you be so heartless? I was in Afghanistan.’
Oh, my god. It hits me. ‘I am so sorry. I can’t believe it…. Are you Mission Accomplished Barbie?’
‘Well what do you think?’
‘Holy.’ I turn to my dog. ‘Hey,’ I call. Then I remember he has become deaf. I walk over and pick him up, bring him back to her.
‘This is Mission Accomplished Barbie,’ I say to him, exaggerating my mouth movements. As if he gets it.
‘No, Barbee. I am trying to regain control of my identity. In fact, I would like it if you could help me.’
‘Oh, Barbee. That is not going to likely happen. I have tons of work, and an active life. Plus, I am learning to control my own online identity. This is taking some time.’
‘Girlfriend. You don’t have to psychoanalyze me. Personally, I would be really happy not to be lying here in day-old full make-up with my arms held up.’
I contemplate her. It would be very helpful, I think, in our communication strategy, for her to have facial expressions.
‘Wait a minute,’ I say. ‘Have you had work done?’
‘Oh my god. Why would you even care? Maybe a bit. No needles.’
‘No needles, right. Frown for me.’
‘What? No. Why?’
‘Just frown like you are displeased.’
She strains. I think I even saw her right thigh draw up in effort.
I smirk. ‘Well, well.’
She becomes agitated.
‘Listen girlfriend’ I say, ‘I don’t care. I could jeezly care less. I think you look great, even if your back must ache with the physics of your waist and breasts. That is totally not my issue. We just saw you on our way home. I have to go and braise my kale.’
‘Hey, no, Wait. Your dog is really cute.’
Yah, well. I hang for a second.
‘Can you just take me up to the deck?’
I look at the house attached to the yard attached to the sidewalk where we are. It smells like lilacs, and the light is so buoyant now that it balloons every atom gently upwards, like an up-side-down sprinkler.
‘The deck?’
‘Yah, he threw me off it last night. He was mad—it’s not really his fault. He had a tough time growing up.’
‘Jeez, Barbee. Are you going to be okay?’ My dog moves a bit. He’s uneasy. ‘Should I maybe pick you up and lay you on my deck? I have a really nice stained-glass piece you could lie beside. Flattering light. Deflected.’
Barbee laughs. ‘I would love to do that. New life, yada. It’s just not in me at the moment. Listen, just help me get back to Ken.’