Huge Tupperware containers lay opened, empty on the plush pink carpet. We sat among them, legs tucked under us, fingers searching like explorers through the tiny pieces of material that were only minutes before, resting peacefully in the tubs. Tiny shirts, pants, dresses, skirts and shoes surrounding us on both sides. Blue satin, florescent orange, rose and green.
"We need a new character. I think this family needs another member. Get
another doll, that one with the brown hair," I said enthusiastically.
Sarah stood up obligingly, leaving a Sarah sized spot in the middle of the clutter.
"This one is good. How about we name her Tina?"
We played out this scenario night after night, staying up later than most seven
and nine year olds were allowed to even think of. Mom didn't care; it was summer
and too hot to sleep in our upstairs rooms, and at least we weren't fighting.
Not that we ever did fight.
We started creating doll families in Sarah's room, sectioning off areas of carpet
for their respective homes. There were mothers, fathers, babies and teens, grandparents
aunts and friends of the family. One group owned a restaurant, another a radio
station.
Eventually, space became scarce in Sarah's room, so we moved to mine, a parallel
universe with a whole new set of families. Then, when my room was filled to
capacity, we moved to the hallway and repeated the scene until our father stubbed
his toe on a tiny kitchen or car, and we were forced to clean it up and start
again.
Our Barbie world was erased. Time to start again. Empty the Tupperware box of
fabric, shirts, pants, dresses, skirts and shoes. Royal blue satin, florescent
orange, rose and green.