She Looks Perfect, Burning in White

This is a short story from my fiction 2 class, junior year.

The doll's eyes stare at me unfeeling. The paint still perfect despite the eyes being separated from the whole head. My mother gave me that doll with words of wisdom; “My dear, be like this doll, always a smile, despite any cracks. Look at how perfect it is dressed in white?” Now, the head is broken, the brown ringlets unglued and the body, still dressed in white, dancing in the fireplace. The dress smells so wonderful now.

I hide behind my mantra, using a wanted truth to drown out his tirade. It helps me ignore the ache in my cheek. He’s yelling above me. His face has probably turned red, it does that when I do something he doesn’t like. This time it was opening the windows in his study because the fire stifled the room. I thought a breeze would be nice; the billowing curtains distracted Benton from his work.

When my mother met Benton, she’d said, “You’re lucky he chose you. He’s handsome and so rich. You’ll look so perfect in white, my dear.” I had only nodded, my lips forming my mantra silently. I’d ordered the wrong tablecloths. The ice felt good on my swollen eye. My mother merely combed my long hair. Now, my hair feels like a curse with Benton pulling me to my feet with it.

I know the words he’s saying, “This is not what you make your husband do! Look at this mess you’ve made.” I don’t hear them. I hide behind my mantra and cry.

The tears soften his face, making his frightful beauty almost tolerable. The messy brown mop on his head is in disarray. It’s so soft when I’m allowed to run my hands through it; such a contrast to its buzzed sides. His eyes made so large by his glasses I can count the flecks of green amidst the brown. They’re so intense whenever he looks at me, it must be from love. I ignore the spittle and think of how his boyish smile should melt my heart. His full lips, so fun to kiss when they aren’t spread so wide, erupting words he doesn’t mean.

Benton’s mouth stops moving. My mantra fills his silence, “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I love…” I trail off, hoping my words are truth. I just want someone to kiss me, to let me know everything’s going to be alright. “That’s a dream, my dear,” my mother would say. “The only thing you need is to appear happy.”

He lets go of my hair and I collapse. He kicks one of the doll’s eye under his desk. “Clean up this mess you’ve made.” He walks out of his study saying, “Once you’ve finished, come to the bedroom.” His foot crushing the porcelain smile.

I start my mantra again. It’s easy to hide behind. The dress has turned to black ash. A headless body remains in the flames. I lock the study door. “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.” I throw the remnants of the head into the flames. The curtains are distracting so I tear them down. Such a pretty white. “You look so perfect,” my mother says as I dress in white, “so perfect.”

My truth is now a scream. Benton’s outside, his voice sounds like the dust of a porcelain smile, so fine, so rough. Mother said I must always have a smile like the doll. The curtains smell like the dress. I look so perfect in white.