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There was once a story about a little girl that lost her doll. She had been playing near the river and her doll fell in, swept away by the current. The girl cried, cried and cried some more until her older brother, who was only two years older, came racing over to see what was wrong. She cried and pointed at the water, said in tearful tones, “My doll, it got ‘way.”
The older brother, being good and loving, at least when he wasn’t teasing her relentlessly. Or hiding her dolls from her. Or just being an overly big brat, went racing after it.
The little girl stood by the bank of the river for hours and hours. Waiting for her brother to return. But he never did. When night fell, a tall man came and found her. He asked her, “What are you doing here all by yourself?”
The little girl answered tearfully, for she had been crying nonstop since the sun had set. “My brother. He went and didn’ come back.”
The tall man smiled gently at the little girl. He patted her head and led her back to the road, where his car waited. He got her in, buckled her in and sped away to the local police station. The little girl fell asleep and when she awoke, she was with her mommy and daddy, both sad and angry and she was scared.
They stayed and then went home and she slept. The next day she woke up in her own bed, with her teddy bear and another favorite doll. She didn’t remember anything. Only that she was hungry. She went downstairs to find a lot of people in the kitchen, in the living room, in the house.
Police in uniforms, her aunts and uncles, her neighbors, her parents’ friends. It felt to the little girl as if the whole world was there. But her brother wasn’t there. And as the days turned into weeks and turned into months, her brother never came back.
The little girl didn’t understand what had happened. They told her that her brother was gone, but she didn’t know what that meant. Before being gone meant a sleepover, or camp. Now he was gone a long time, far longer than the little girl was used to.
When his birthday came and there was no party and no brother, she got scared and sad. She began to think that maybe he was mad at her and that’s why he never came back. The little girl was always losing her toys and he always got them back. Maybe this time, to her way of thinking, he just had enough.
It didn’t matter what anyone told her, that it wasn’t her fault. The little girl never believed it. Because one day, when she was two years older, the doll was there, in her room, but her brother wasn’t. He never came home and never returned even if the doll had.
The little girl tried to tell her mommy and daddy about the doll, but they simply thought that it must’ve been another one. Even if it was moldy and showed signs of wear that shouldn’t be there. Even if it was missing one eye and one arm.
The little girl no longer liked the doll so she put it away. As she stopped being a little girl and turned into a little lady. As she became a teenager and then a woman, she kept the doll but always hidden, always put away in a box, in her closet, in the basement, in the attic. When she moved away, she took the box with the doll. Put it in her attic and forgot about it.
She never spoke of her brother. She never spoke of the tall man since no one remembered him and was never seen again. She lived and fell in love and didn’t keep in touch with her parents or her younger sister and brother.
Married, had two boys that were so different and yet so alike and in them she saw her oldest brother. She never spoke of him to them, and never tried to find out what really happened to her brother. He was gone, and the guilt of it made her give her life to her youngest’s education while leaving her oldest motherless in theory if not in fact.
After all, Don was not only her brother’s name sake, he was his very twin. He was his ghost came back to haunt her. Taunt her. Remind her of her sins and of the past that wouldn’t stay hidden. When she looked into his dark eyes, when he smiled at whatever thought had suddenly popped up in his head.
She loved him. She loved him very much. Proud of him, her little man. But there was only so much she could take. Despite herself she knew she wasn’t a strong woman. She was still that little girl waiting for her older brother to come back. So she did her best. Loved from a distance and watched as dark eyes look at her with hurt and confusion and fear. And as she left with her youngest, packed bags and boxes, Margaret Eppes turned her back on her eldest and felt another part of her wither and die.