“Robby, I’s scared…” Alison whispered as he led her into the store.  “Don’t worry, Ali, I’m here,” you say, knowing that that is usually enough to keep her settled.  But now you yourself feel a little queasy.  You’ve never seen anything at all like this before – the ceiling towers above you, and you’re surrounded by tons of books.  Your other arm is being tugged at.  Instead of Mother leading you into the store, Ali is pulling you to the confectionery stand.  Your rumbling stomach tells you it wishes the treats were more than simply a feast for the eyes. Spread out before you are jellies, chocolates, and other confections you wouldn’t have believed existed.  You take out your allotted money, sent to you by your Aunt Susanna for Christmas, and crouch down to talk to your sister.  “Alison, you can have anything you want here,” you say in response to her eager dance.  “Ooh, an’ there’s so much to’hoose from,” she says, her finger making a trail from the top of the glass to the bottom as she peruses the merchandise.  She finally settles on fudge.  “It’s like choc’late, but i’s the chewiest of all,” she offers as an explanation as the cashier fetches her change.  “Now you’re sure that’s what you want, sweetie?  Remember, you only get one thing this trip,” Mother says as she towers over us, almost touching the roof, but not quite.  “Uh-hunh,” Ali manages to say, her teeth already sticky with fudge.  Walking down the main avenue of the mall, you pass a sign advertising the movie Mary Poppins.  You’ve never seen a movie before, and Ali seems to like the poster.  “Oh, peease, mummy, PEEEASE can’t we see it?” Alison begs.  Mother finally gives in, on the condition that Alison will wash the dishes for a week.  “And washing dishes does not mean putting a dirty plate in front of that mutt-o-matic and watching with amusement.”  You sit in the back row, and watch Alison more than the movie: “Look, Robby, the children there are A WHOLE GAZILLION times as big as you!  Look!  Do you see ‘em too?”  After the movie, your family resumes its train-like route through the store.  You pass areas for clothing, and accessories, and by the time you come to ladies’ undergarments, it is no longer a mystery why few gentlemen are walking around here alone.  Then you see a section devoted to miniature cars.  Your boyhood urge takes over, and you run to the counter.  Alison also sees an area to her liking.  It is filled with china dolls, from every country of the world.  “Come HERE,” Alison drags you toward the dolls, “Mamma says we’ve gotta stay together.”  But you’ve been dragged enough.  “Listen, Ali, I’ll be right over here by these nice cars.  That’s almost together.  Don’t worry.  You want to see those pretty dolls, and I want to see those nice cars.  It’ll be like an adventure, to go on our own separate journeys and return like brave knights from battle, and we’ll tell each other our adventures, okay?”  Anything to see those cars.  She walks off uncertainly, and then steps in front of each doll, introducing herself and asking their names.  You run your fingers over each car’s frame, and then look into its tiny, intricate windows, its tiny doors, all of its tiny perfection.  You hear your sister’s trademark wail, and look over to see a beautiful doll, with a wad of fudge in its hair, looking blankly up at your sister’s tear-stained face.  A stern employee with obviously no experience with five-year-olds is shaking his finger and telling her she’ll have to pay for the doll.  Crying, she tries to sit down, but knocks over a stand of dolls instead.  The man flies into a rage.  She runs off into the crowd.  Jumping into action, you run after her, but the crowd closes in around her faster than quicksand.  You yell, you scream, you look in all the toy departments, you search with lightning-like frenzy for that precious piece of your heart, but to no avail.  She is gone.

Years of searching afterward, by provincial and metro police wouldn’t get your sister back.  You and your mother leave that house, which was filled with painful memories.  That settled it.  She was gone for good.

You sleep in a hospital bed while outside the rain continues to pour.  It’s late afternoon, and in an office building forty minutes away, a woman is shaking out a wet umbrella.  She takes off a damp cardigan, revealing a nurse’s uniform underneath.  “Renault Movie Studios, please.”  “That’s fourth floor,” the secretary at the desk announces after checking a laminated sheet, “but they’re closing soon.”  “I’ll only be a moment,” the nurse says, and pushes the button on the elevator.  She gets off at the fourth floor and speaks to another secretary.  “I’d like to make a donation to one of your members’ film projects.”  The woman takes the offered piece of paper and pen from the desktop.  She begins to fill out the form, the check already written, but pauses when she gets to the space marked “donor”.  “Can there be anonymous donors?” she asks.  The secretary looks up from her work.  “Sure, but most people think that the ultimate greatness of their name will inspire the creator,” she says wistfully, then laughs, “or something pompous like that.”  Nurse Denby thought to herself a moment, and whispering, “Maybe it already has,” she writes in the “donor” space: “May your movies always be a whole gazillion times better.. Love, Ali.”

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