Naming a Doll BY BLACKOUT A needle weaved in and out of the fabric creating intricate designs that only a master of their craft could achieve. Nimble hands carefully painted the eyes adding fine details. He slowly assembled each piece of the porcelain doll; each time the pieces clicked together it was like finishing a part of the puzzle. This was to be his final doll, a compilation of all his skill, imagination, and years of experience. It would be the perfect doll, his greatest masterpiece.

While I am fixing the second chapter of Olympia I thought I would release this little short story that has been racing through my head to make up for taking down Olympia 2. This will only compose of 2 to 5 parts at most but I am very pleased with how the first part came out hopefully I can keep it up.

A needle weaved in and out of the fabric creating intricate designs that only a master of their craft could achieve. Nimble hands carefully painted the eyes adding fine details. He slowly assembled each piece of the porcelain doll; each time the pieces clicked together it was like finishing a part of the puzzle. This was to be his final doll, a compilation of all his skill, imagination, and years of experience. It would be the perfect doll, his greatest masterpiece.

With every stitch he got closer to having the perfect dress for his creation. He carefully took the miniature shoes and slid them on her delicate feet. The shoes had taken him months to finish and quite a bit out of his savings. He had spared no expense, had had gotten the finest fabrics, and silks. Only the best would do for her his most beautiful masterpiece. All his savings were gone and he was quite poor now. He had spent many sleepless nights working late to complete it. He knew his time was coming and he would soon be departing this earth, he just hoped he would finish it time.

The doll maker was a man on a mission. He barely eat, and instead poured his heart and soul into his daughter, for he had no children and filled that void with his lifeless creations. When the body was in the kiln he would work on the clothes adding stitch after stitch, beautiful buttons, and even some fine gems adorned on miniature jewelry. Most of the time he worked on her delicate and beautiful body his frail hands painting with fine brushes the many details of the female body. Slowly but surely she was beginning to look like a real girl; and if she was life size you may even have mistaken the doll as alive.

At long last his greatest masterpiece was near completion. She was beautiful, stunning, his greatest masterpiece. She was the most lifelike doll he had ever made, or even seen for that matter. Years from now he figured doll makers around the world would study his creation to better themselves in the craft. All that was left was to name her. That would be the final step and he will have completed his greatest masterpiece and she would take on a life of her own.

“What should be the name of one so beautiful? Mere words cannot describe your beauty. So lifelike, so perfect that any name I can think of would not do you justice, and yet without a name you are incomplete. I will have to ponder this.” The old doll maker asked around but none he asked could provide his with the name he sought. He went thought the alphabet from A to Z, Amber, Ann, and even Zelda but none were good enough. He had considered Dolly since she was the perfect doll but that was too often used as a dolls name by young girls so he had decided against that.
Finally the doll maker knew his time was at hand and he would soon depart from this world. It saddened him that he would not be able to witness the completion of his greatest masterpiece.

“Perhaps I have made you to perfect. So perfect that no name could ever do you justice, and only by becoming imperfect and more human can you my daughter, my greatest creation gain a name and a identity of your own. My time is up and I must soon leave. I pray that you will one day find the one that can complete you.” These were the doll maker’s final words as he drew his last breath and fell into his eternal slumber. The doll looked on as her father and creator died before her. When they came and cleared out the doll maker’s house one of the workers swore that the doll actually seemed to look sadder, as if she was longing for something.

The doll was passed on over the generations from one owner to the next. Everyone he beheld it was stunned by its beauty and human like quality and yet everyone who looked at her felt that there was something missing. Overtime the doll was thought to be lost and people began to forget about the doll maker’s greatest masterpiece, the perfect yet incomplete doll.

I was actually kind of sad to hear the old man had died. Since my dad’s engineering firm had transferred him all the way from the United States to Russia I hadn't really made any friends. I was miserable the first few days living in Russia and begged my parents to let me go back home to the states where I actually had some friends. My parents just told me to get out of the house and make some new friends. The problem for me with making friends in Russia was that most of the guys already seemed to have friends and social circles, and the girls seemed to think they were way out of my league. They were too hot to have anything to do with an average American like me. I guess it also didn't help that I didn't speak a lick of Russian.

I was slowly learning Russian but it was only bits and pieces that one would use for a simple conversation like saying hello and asking how someone was doing. My dad’s parents came to America from Russia and only spoke Russian to him so he was fine. Mom was struggling to learn the language but most adults in Russia new English so she had no problem getting by. My younger sister Carolyn was only six and since she was still young it was easier for her to make new friends.

I had met Mr. Borovsky while in mu hunt for new friends. He was sitting in his rocking chair outside his old home. He lived right next door and I waved Hi to him asking how he was doing in the very limited Russian that I knew. Much to my surprise Mr. Borovsky used perfect English and asked me if I would like to come in and have a cup of tea with him. I had already been out on these friend hunts a few times before to no success and I did not want to go wandering around again. So I gladly accept his invitation since it gave me a place to be until I could come home and tell my parents my friend search was unsuccessful. Otherwise they would be all like “Micah Wilder you should be going outside and making new friends.” At least this way it would look like I tried.

I found out I generally enjoyed talked to Mr. Borovsky. He had lived a very interesting life. He had joined the military at a young age and eventually rose in ranks to become a commander. He eventually resigned as a commander and took a desk position in the Russian military where he settled down married and had children. I enjoyed his stories about his time in the military. Mr. Borovsky had played no small part in making Russia what it is today. He also would listen to me about my problems, like making new friends in Russia. He was understanding and tried to help by teaching me some Russian. It still won’t nearly enough though.

The news that Mr. Borovsky passed away in the night was saddening. I couldn't really call him a friend because of the big age difference, but I really had enjoyed the time I spent with Mr. Borovsky. I had lost the one person I could truly talk to in Russia. When I saw the moving van outside Mr. Borovsky’s house I just had to see what was going on. I saw a very attractive Russian woman outside on the porch directing the movers on where to put the boxes. I recognized her from the photos in Mr. Borovsky’s house, she was his daughter. She had probably come to clean out the house.

“I’m sorry about your loss” I said as I approached her. “I may not have known Mr. Borovsky long but I can tell he lived a full life.” She looked at me curiously.

“You must be Micah. My father told me all about you. Why don’t you come in? I have something I want to discuss with you.” I obliged and followed her inside taking a seat on one of the chairs that was still left inside the house. Once inside she introduced herself as Anna and of course as Mr. Borovsky’s daughter as I had already figured out.

“My father spoke quite a bit about you over the phone. My father was a quiet man and tended to keep to himself. I happy he found someone to talk to and keep him company these last few weeks. It truly means a lot to me.”

“It was no problem; he kept me company just as much as I kept him. He is quite the storyteller.” She laughed at that giving me a bright and warm smile.

“That he was. I grew up listening to my father speaking about his time in the military. Eventually it got a bit repetitive. Anyway my father left something that he wanted you to have.” I was quite curios now. What could the old man have left me? We had only known each other a few weeks. I was still rather touched though that he would leave me something to remember him by. Anna left the room and came back holding a small, dusty wooden chest. She handed me the chest which must have been left to me from her dad.

“He really wanted you to have that.”

“Thanks” I told her as I opened the box. Inside was a rather old and dusty doll. She had long brown hair with bangs covering her forehead. The doll wore a short black dress with ruffles on the front and black high heels. Anna saw the doll and seemed quite curious as to why her father would leave me a doll but she really had no idea. Anna thanked me again for spending to with her dad. I told her it had been my pleasure and excused myself out, and headed back home. Maybe I would give the doll to my sitter Carolyn. She had an antique doll collection that seemed to be growing over the years. I came back home and went up to my room. I sat the chest on my desk and opened it to reveal the beautiful doll again. It was then that I noticed a piece of paper under the doll that made me curious. I pulled it out from under her and immediately noticed my name on the paper. It was a letter addressed to me from Mr. Borovsky.

I cried as I read the letter. How dare he leave and only leave me a damn doll to remember him by. I knew it was not his fault for dying but the wounds of losing the only person I could really talk to in Russia was still fresh. I did not want the doll; it was a reminder of his death and me being lonely again.

“Rip!” I tore Mr. Borovsky’s letter into little pieces and deposited them into the trash bin. Damn him! Damn him for leaving me alone with only a doll for companionship. A doll was not a real person; you couldn't talk to a doll and get to know it better. Then there was the fact that I was a dude. What type of gift was a doll to a eighteen year old guy. Guys just didn't play with dolls. Maybe I would give the doll to my sister as a gift, but no that would require having the doll around as a constant reminder of how much of a loner I had become since moving to Russia. I made up my mind on what I had to do.

I found myself in from of the antique shop in Moscow. We lived right outside Moscow so I could just drive myself over there. I had already traded in my America license for one that now read in Russian. I opened the door to find the old man sitting at the front counter eyeing me suspiciously. I guess it was a bit strange for someone of my age to be at an antique shop by themselves.

“Hello” I greeted him.

“What can I do for you?” He asked staring at the chest that contained the doll.

“I have something that I want you to appraise” I said as I sat the chest down in front of him and opened it to reveal the doll. He looked rather surprise and in shocked at the sight of the doll. I wondered just how much it was worth. He took out his glasses and brought them to his face and then proceeded to put on rubber gloves.

“These are to prevent the oils from my hands from damaging the doll” he said as he saw me looking at his hands and the gloves he had adorned. I was glad I had barely touched the doll. He careful took her out and all the dust on the doll seemed to just fall off like it was not even there. The dust that did not fall off he gently wiped off with a white cloth. Without all the dust covering it the doll looked as good as new. It was almost magical how the dust from what I assumed to be years being trapped inside that box simple fell off. It looked good as new and I immediately knew this doll was worth quite a lot. It was a masterpiece as anyone could tell. It was life like and very beautiful and more than that it was in mint condition.

“Now this is a very interesting and rare doll. How on earth did you come to possess this doll?” I told him how I had been given it by Mr. Borovsky after he passed away.

“You don’t realize how great of a gift you've been given. This doll was the last doll ever made by the Russian doll maker Boris Kovalevski. He remains one of the most famous doll makers to this day. He sought to make a perfect doll that was lifelike and at the same time extremely beautiful. Near the end of his life he had finally made a doll that was perfect in every sense of the word. So perfect in fact that he could never complete it since he could find no name suitable for her. That doll was believed to be lost over time and yet here it is now, in perfect condition. Do you see this tag here?” He asked me as he showed me the tag at the back of her dress just like you would find on any shirt. It had a word which I recognized as the Russian word for name and then a line next to it in order to write the name of the doll on. But the name tag was left blank. This doll had no name it seemed.

“You see how it has no name. That is how I know for a fact it is Boris’s greatest and yet unfinished masterpieces. It also has no signature on it like the rest of Boris’s dolls. He would only sign his dolls on completion and since he had never found a name for this doll it remained incomplete.” I was really excited now. Screw giving the doll to my sister, it seemed that Mr. Borovsky had left me with a great treasure.

“So, how much would she sell for?” I asked greedily.

“I’m sorry to say she will sell for more than I am willing to buy. In American dollars I would say five hundred thousand to maybe even a million. You have quite the treasure.” I was quite excited at this point. I had the potential to get a million dollars from just this one doll. I thanked the shop keeper and then rushed out of the store with my treasure chest. I got home and hid the chest in the closet. If any of my family knew about this the doll would simply just be added as a prized masterpiece to my sisters doll collection despite how much money we could get for it. She was obsessed with that doll collection. Anytime dad came back from a long business trip he always brought an antique doll home for Carolyn.

Dinner that night was rather uncomfortable. I had never been very good at keeping secrets and now I had a million dollar secret. There was also the fact that my parents found out I had been spending all my time at Mr. Borovsky’s instead of trying to make new friends.

“I think it was very nice of you to keep that sweet old man company but you do need to go out and make friends your own age.” Mom said over dinner as we discussed my lying about going out and trying to make friends. It was summer right now and in a few weeks I would start college and would be heading back to the states. I couldn't wait to head back to the states. They still thought it was important though for some reason that I should have friends in Russia.

“I met Anna, Mr. Borovsky’s daughter and apparently her dad gave you quite the unique doll.” Mother said. Damn they knew about the doll.

“Really! A doll! Micah can I have it? Can I have it?” Carolyn asked me as soon as she had found out about the doll.

“NO! It is mine and you can’t have it!” I screamed at her.

“What’s gotten into you Micah, what’s the big deal with not letting your sister have the doll?” I was backed into a wall so I had no choice but to tell them about my trip to the antique shop and how much I could possibly get for the doll.

“That indeed is one rare doll. I won’t make you keep the doll and add it to the family collection, although it would be nice if you did. However Micah if you do choose to sell it the money will first and foremost go to paying for Carolyn and your college education, after that we can decide on what to do with the rest of the money.” My dad said. I was surprised he didn't force me to keep the doll and add it to the collection.

“Can I at least see the doll?” Carolyn asked. I was given no choice in the matter but to show her the damn doll after dinner. So after dinner was over I went upstairs and brought down the chest and opened it to show them Boris’s masterpiece.

“Wow! She is so pretty!” Carolyn said when she saw it. “I can’t believe you would sell her.”

"Sorry but I'm not a doll person. What do you think mom?"

“I agree with Carolyn honey but it’s your choice. Mr. Borovsky left the doll to you” mom told me. When everyone was done admiring the doll I brought it back to my room. I picked the doll up by its clothing so I would no ruin the body of the doll and carefully put her on my nightstand to admire my million dollar girl some more. She really was a beautiful doll and I couldn't help but feel as if something was indeed missing from the doll, even though I knew it was just a name and so it shouldn't really matter.

She also looked sad and lonely which was how I felt. For some reason the doll felt like a real person, maybe that was because besides being small it looked like a real person.

“You must have been lonely also trapped inside that chest? I understand how lonely things can be in this world.” It really felt like she was listening to me. “Tell you what even though I want to sell you since your worth a lot. There is no reason why we can’t be friends like Mr. Borovsky wanted. I really wish I could complete you but I don’t think I am the right person to give you a name.” The dolls facial expressions didn't change at all but I just seemed to get the feeling she was really sad as I told her this. I don’t know why but for some reason I felt guilt like I had said something really cruel and had to make it up.

“Tell you what, while you are living here your mine, so why not borrow my name for now. Although you’re a girl so it would have to be Mika. This way everyone will know you belong to me.” She really seemed to brighten as I said this. “You know what Mika, I think you and I are going to become good friends” I told her. I know it was stupid to be talking to a doll but for some reason it just felt right. It was like she was really alive and could understand every word I told her. “Well goodnight Mika!” I said as I turned off the lights and got into bed. I could have sworn the doll’s eyes were gleaming with excitement, like it had finally found what it had been searching for. I didn't pay it much heed; after all it was just a doll, and dolls don’t think or have feelings. I let such thoughts drift out of my head and before I knew it I was fast asleep.

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