By Tiana Dovetko
It was a Tuesday afternoon. I never liked Tuesdays. Funny, because normally the stereotype is “I hate Mondays.” I used to think that way, until this particular Tuesday. Nothing ever truly exciting happened on Tuesdays–each is simply, as my dad described it, just a day slapped into the middle of the week. On this Tuesday, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. But, My bedroom was in complete dismay with cardboard boxes everywhere, and I listened to my younger sister through our paper thin walls, singing to herself while playing with my old American Girl Doll sets. Rummaging through a pile of the clothes, I heard the soft patter of footsteps stumble down the hall as my sister poked her head into my room.
“Do you think Mirabell has time to come visit my bakery?” She asked as her doe eyes gleamed in the sun. “Please,” she added, looking longingly into my eyes trying her failing puppy eyes trick. Peeking in my doorway with the sunlight glistening on her princess jewelry, she stood anxiously for my reply.
I hesitated looking around my room. Technically, I was supposed to pack and start dragging boxes down into the car. Instead, I replied, “Ok, I think Mirabell can make a quick stop to buy a croissant.”
Her eyes lit up and she raced back to her room, yelling, “I’ll go tell Isabel to make something fresh!!”
I went into my closet to find my American Girl Doll, Mirabell, still sitting in the corner. She was tucked behind some hoodies that are now scattered on the floor. My sister returned to my room, and we sat down cross-cross on my old watermelon rug. I had Mirabell ring the tiny bell on the plastic counter of our toy café, placing an order for a croissant and some cakes. She acted as both the customer and server, giving me the “food”. I had my doll take an obnoxiously loud bite, making my sister giggle.
We sat and had our dolls try a plethora of desserts. A quick stop at the bakery, turned into a shopping spree and sleepover, the minutes flew by, but all I could care about was being with my little sister. Playing pretend, eating fake sweets and having out laughter echo down the halls, filling the house.
Mom called for my sister to come eat dinner, so she hugged me tightly and dashed out of the room excited to munch on her chicken nuggets. I sat in her absence, relishing the moment before life got hectic again. When it inevitably did, and I had to stuff boxes into a car and tightly hug my sister goodbye, I felt every foot of distance driving a million years away in her view.
This was the last time I visited our bakery. When I came back home for Thanksgiving, my playmate was a couple inches taller, in the first grade, and had swapped her “pastries” for school books and ipad games. We continued to laugh, talk, and read, but the quiet afternoon that warmed our home with laughter was now just a memory, written in my heart forever.
