Free The Memory Box by Eva Lesko Natiello Page B

when I said it. Why don’t kids come with manuals?
    “It was different this time.” She pulled her head away from my chest, “I mean, kinda the same—but different.”
    “Sure you want to talk about this?”
    “I saw her bedroom! The little girl was so scared.” Panic grew in her eyes. “She’s really cute, I wish I could help her …”
    “I know, sweetie.” Lilly looked like a mermaid; from her waist down she was swaddled in a twist of bed sheets, which I unraveled as she spoke.
    “It started the same.” Lilly looked at me imploringly, “She took her dolly— doll , with her in the stroller to the playground. But it’s weird; I don’t know how they got there. One minute they were at home, and then I heard the swings in the playground screeching and screeching. I hate that sound. But the girl was smiling and playing with her doll—lifting it up and pretending it was dancing.” Lilly slid her forearm under her nose and snorted up any remaining secretions not already deposited on her arm.
    “Okay.” I reached for a tissue from her side table.
    “The mom was with her, but then she turned into the other lady! Why does she have to do that? She starts out so nice and pretty, and then she turns into the creepy new mom!” Lilly’s chest started to heave, and her voice accelerated. “The mom said it was time to leave the playground. Before the friends came! They’re supposed to wait for the friends. The girl got scared.” Lilly stopped as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “She didn’t recognize her. She looked different. She had the same clothes, the same voice, the same hair, but a different face. A completely different face . The girl put her head down because she was scared to look at the mom.”
    Once Lilly’s legs were free from the sheets, she readjusted and brought her knees up to her chin, hugged her shins, and rocked herself back and forth.
    “Lilly, I’m sure it was still her mom. You know how dreams are. Maybe you just didn’t recognize her. Maybe she got a haircut or Botox or something.” Botox? Was I serious ?
    Smarty stood at the side of Lilly’s bed looking at us, wagging his tail, as nervous as Lilly. I picked him up, and he nuzzled his head under one of Lilly’s arms.
    She took a big gulp of air like she was about to dive under water. “The girl said, ‘Who are you? Where is my mommy?’ And the lady said ‘I’m your mommy, silly.’ Then they got home. But it wasn’t really their home. Do you know what I mean? It didn’t look like their house, but it was.”
    “Did the girl have her doll?”
    “No!” Her arms sprang in to the air so fast that I thought Smarty would go flying. “She lost it!” She took the bed sheet and pulled it over her head.
    “Honey—”
    She dropped her hands in her lap and the sheet with them. “The mom didn’t want to go back to look for it. She said the girl never brought it. That it was in her room. But that’s not true! She did bring it! I wanted to scream at the mom!”
    “I know, sweetie, you told me. You said she had her doll.” I stroked the tops of her feet through the sheet.
    Why was Lilly having this dream? Why? It’s not fair to be so scared when you’re supposed to be at peace in your sleep. Where on earth was this coming from? Over and over again.
    “She raced to her room anyway to see if her doll was there, but she couldn’t find her room. It wasn’t anywhere. Can you believe that? She looked all over the house, but she just couldn’t find her room. She started crying and ran back downstairs to the mom, and told her she lost her bedroom, too. The mom laughed and said, ‘You didn’t lose your room, it’s upstairs. It’s the only room up there so that you’ll never get lost.’ She went upstairs again. She looked and looked, but there were no doors, no rooms. She ran up and down all the halls—she was so scared because she thought the mom was playing tricks, and then she looked for the stairs