SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue Two - Journal - Page 110
SINE QUA NON
Barbies laying on the basement table.
“But they get a second outfit, right? Oooo! And they should get some accessories,” I add with
a squeal.
Mammaw smiles as she watches me shuffle through the small plastic bins of Barbie clothes.
She had sorted them by clothing type. There is one bin for shirts, pants, dresses, and jackets.
Then, there are Ziplock bags of plastic shoes and accessories.
For the blonde Barbie dressed in a sporty look, I place a long pink dress next to her with a
pair of purple heels. For the next Barbie, who is wearing a long winter coat and boots, I place
a yellow swimsuit and pair of sunglasses next to her brunette locks. Mammaw picks up her
plastic body and twists her dark strands into a thick ponytail, and she secures the hair with a
thick white hairband.
Once my grandmother and I finish laying out the rest of the outfit and accessory pairings,
she retrieves a clear plastic bag and slips the first Barbie and the rest of her belongings into
her new packaging.
With her pre-printed labels in hand, one by one each bag receives a price tag which reads
“$2.”
After we pack all of the makeover supplies away, Mammaw and I sit in front of the television
to finish the rest of the movie that played in the background while we worked.
When I sneak a glance at my grandmother, I see that she has already picked up her crochet
hook and is finishing the next square of a blanket that she will probably donate to York
Hospital. Resting my head back into the brown couch cushions, I smile as I imagine
grandmothers picking out our Barbie offerings from the shelves of the thrift store where my
Mammaw works.
I bet they are taking them home to spend time with their own granddaughters.
———
The three of us stand in front of the small mausoleum that we have built. The small gray rocks
we collected from the gravel driveway cover the moth, which is completely hidden from the
view of the sky. A small collection of flowers sits on top of the impromptu grave—the tiny
yellow dandelion stems feel too cheery for the sad burial sight.
Alex and Dominic leave me there, sitting criss-cross-applesauce in front of the little pile of
rocks.
——
I look down into the open casket and stare down on the face of my grandmother.
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