Joanne
She collected porcelain dolls. Although her features were everything but delicate. She had tight brunette curls that were not always brushed. She wore pink or white nightgowns every day, only dressing up for the occasional doctor appointment. Her plump body relied on the assistance of a walker, at the old age of 40. The borders of her world were within the condo’s manicured lawn. Yet in her bedroom, dreams, and adventure were possible.
Her intimate room was lined with hundreds of fragile dolls with brightly colored dresses and tightly tied white shoes, from different eras and worlds. I am certain she conversated with them hearing their pains and treasures through their wind up individualized songs.
We were an unlikely pair. In a midwetern town, a 5-year-old biracial girl and mid life Caucasian crippled hermit. Yet somehow Joanne was my best friend.
My expedition next door occurred weekly and included assisting with the creation of French toast meals, caring for her poodle, and watching the Disney channel. As other kids my age watched cartoons and sesame street, Anne of Green Gables and Avonlea whispered in the background as we cared fore each porcelin princess.
I thought the movies were for my growth and pleasure. Anne, an orphan rebelling against her town and pursuing her love of education. But in reality, Joanne watched Anne’s fiery spirit as a wayto see achievement and adversity through the tv, since it could not exist in her world.
Our friendship endeared for two more years. We moved out of the condo complex, still residing in the same town. My parents continued to bring me over of our weekly fantasy trips to a world of Green Gables and porelin dolls. I invited Joanne to my First communion and other birthday functions, but her illness kept her from attending. I brought my world to her with my brother and cousins sharing their youthful energy, she shared her dolls and Gables.
Shortly after our move, we received a phone call from Joanne’s sister. Her illness finally took her life. At 7, my experience with death was new. My parents encouraged further worldly education as we went to the viewing.
I walked up to the casket. Joanne looked at peace and youthful in her pink night gown. I did not know what to say, except to give a farewell kiss on her cheek.
Several days after, Joanne’s sister called again. The will had been read, Joanne had left me (a 7 year old neighbor) with 20 porcelin dolls. I knew this was her wealth and vitality, and felt honored to receive this final gift. Although I did not fully understand the concept of death and wills, I knew my best friend was gone. I vowed at her death, if I ever had a daughter, she would be named after my magical friend Joanne.
I cannot recall the minute details of her illness, death, and even her last name. But every once in awhile, I think of her, and how even though the confines of her home, she nursed my sense of education, wonder, and spirit for the world. And maybe the 7 year old in me brought hope for a future she knew she could not carry out.
Over 20 years later, the dolls still sit dormant in my parents’ attic, awaiting their next adventure.
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