The Glamour Corvette is parked in the driveway. Inside, Wedding Fantasy Barbie and Fashion Jeans Barbie are screaming at each other.
“We’re going to be late again,” hollers Wedding Fantasy, “and we are the godmothers and if that Cabbage Patch Doll’s soul ends up in hell or—I don’t know, whatever happens when your christening is ruined—it will be because you were weighing yourself for the fourteenth time today.”
Fashion Jeans Barbie yells, “Well, sweetie, I would love to start the car, but your stupid dress is covering the gearshift!”
“I’m in your way? Fine.” Wedding Fantasy Barbie opens the passenger door. Her wedding dress—which consists of three full skirts, one tulle, one silk, one net—spills out of the car and she gets tangled as she steps out. “Oh hell,” she mutters, sprawling on the driveway. She lies there with a sigh. Her enormous puffed sleeves cover her face.
Fashion Jeans says, “Serves you right!” She pulls at the bottom of her too-small angora sweater.
After a moment Wedding Fantasy takes hold of the passenger door and manages to stand up. “You think it’s easy being born in this stupid dress? You think it’s easy sleeping and eating and showering in it?” One heel broken, she lurches across the driveway into the kitchen of their wall-less townhouse, which is held up by white columns. She rummages in the kitchen drawers.
Fashion Jeans shouts, “Now who’s making us late?” She leans on the car horn.
Wedding Fantasy shuts the last drawer and turns around. “Goddamn it, where are the scissors?” As she opens and slams kitchen cabinets, Fashion Jeans lets off the horn and calls, “For your information, I weigh myself to make sure I’m thin for you.”
In the living room looking under the couch, Wedding Fantasy hollers back, “You think I give a fuck how much you weigh?”
The curtain of the ranch house next door twitches and Raggedy Ann peers at them, scowling. Fashion Jeans flips her off and the curtains fall back into place.
Wedding Fantasy lies on the ground and reaches under the couch. “Gotcha,” she says, and waves the scissors in the air.
In the driveway, Fashion Jeans leans against the Glamour Corvette. She taps one too-narrow pink boot and says, “What did you mean by that thing you said before?”
Ignoring this, Wedding Fantasy sits down on the living room floor. She takes the scissors in one hand and her skirt in the other. Without giving herself time to think about it, she cuts halfway up and then back down, cutting a triangle of net and tulle. She stares, fascinated, at her revealed body. She has legs. Just like Fashion Jeans. She touches one foot and gasps.
Fashion Jeans runs into the living room. She kneels down in her too-tight jeans. She picks up the triangle of discarded skirt material and tries to put it back. She’s not yelling anymore. “Honey, wait. What are you doing? Just hold on a minute and talk to me.”
Wedding Fantasy ignores her, takes hold of her broken stiletto heel, and pulls it off with a hiss of pain. She reaches down and, holding her ankle, pushes her foot out of its pointed tippy-toe into an L shape. She starts to cry.
“Are you okay? Baby, what’s wrong?” Fashion Jeans leans forward.
“It’s just… it stopped hurting. I didn’t know it could stop hurting.” Wedding Fantasy takes off her other heel, closes her eyes, pushes her other foot into an L. She wipes her eyes, but the tears keep coming. She sniffles.
Fashion Jeans says, “Stop for a second, this is—”
Holding on to the end table, Wedding Fantasy levers herself up. She takes a careful step, then another. “Can you hand me the scissors?”
Fashion Jeans stands and slides her hands around Wedding Fantasy’s waist. “Let me just help you over to the couch, and I think I can fix your heel with super glue. We can maybe even glue the rest of the dress back on. Okay, Baby? Let’s put you back together and get to the christening.”
Wedding Fantasy stares at Fashion Jeans for a long moment. “Did you hear what I said? My feet don’t hurt.”
“I mean, that’s great! Yay! But you can’t go to the christening, you know, barefoot with a dress that’s all cut up.” Fashion Jeans pulls Wedding Fantasy towards the couch. “You sit here and I’ll go get the glue—it’s in the bathroom from when I was fixing the towel rack.”
Wedding Fantasy sits on the couch and Fashion Jeans hops in the yellow elevator. She presses 3 and the elevator lumbers upwards.
Alone, Wedding Fantasy stretches both feet out in front of her. She points, releases, points, releases. She whispers, “Wow,” and smiles. She shuffles back to the kitchen, feeling the carpet fibres against her bare feet, and picks the scissors up off the floor. She sits down. After a moment she takes hold of her huge white dress and cuts along the top of the triangle, twisting the skirt to cut all the way around. When she’s finished, she makes a pile of the skirt material. She takes hold of her net sleeves and rips one off, then the other. She hugs herself, stroking her upper arms.
“Found the glue!” Fashion Jeans calls from the third floor. The elevator begins a creaking descent.
Wedding Fantasy pulls at the high collar of her dress. She inserts the scissors between the dress and her skin, then cuts a few inches. She puts the scissors down and grabs both sides of the cut, then rips. When the rip passes her waist, she takes a huge breath and laughs with joy. She keeps ripping until she can take the dress off.
By the time the elevator settles back into place, Wedding Fantasy is standing naked in the living room.
“What the hell did you do?” shrieks Fashion Jeans. “I can’t glue your whole dress back together!”
“Who asked you to?” says Wedding Fantasy.
Fashion Jeans stands in the elevator, holding the glue. “What’s next,” she says, “You gonna cut off all your hair, too?”
Wedding Fantasy twirls in a circle and grins. “Ooo. Maybe.”
Stepping out of the elevator, Fashion Jeans gives Wedding Fantasy a wide berth. She says, “Honey. I don’t get what happened. I’m sorry I said your dress was in the way, in the car. I didn’t mean for you to cut it off. I don’t get why you’re doing any of this.”
Wedding Fantasy says, “I can breathe. Here, feel.” She grabs Fashion Jeans’ hands and puts them on her stomach. She takes a huge breath in and lets it out. “Oh, babe, it feels amazing. I want you to feel how great this is.”
Fashion Jeans backs away, shaking her head.
“Just let me show you—you won’t believe it. We’ll start with your boots, fix your feet—”
“Skeletor has a Sew Magic machine,” says Fashion Jeans. “I bet he could make you a dress out of the skirt.” She eyes the pile of fabric. “I mean, it would be smaller. But it would be a dress.”
Wedding Fantasy moves towards Fashion Jeans. Fashion Jeans backs away again. “Why aren’t you listening to me?” says Wedding Fantasy. “Don’t you want to stop hurting?”
“You don’t even look like a real Barbie!” cries Fashion Jeans. “You have a big stomach. Your feet can’t even wear heels anymore! It’s—you look wrong. You’re not pretty, you’re broken.”
Wedding Fantasy picks up the scissors. She takes a long hank of blonde hair and saws through it. She drops the hair on the floor.
“Don’t do this,” says Fashion Jeans.
Not looking away, Wedding Fantasy takes hold of more hair, she cuts and cuts. She cuts until there’s just tufts of blonde fuzz covering her scalp.
Fashion Jeans sinks to the floor. She picks up the snakeskin remains of hair and dress. She curls up, closes her eyes, and strokes them against her cheek.
Wedding Fantasy whispers, “I’m not broken.”
There’s no reply from Fashion Jeans, who is crying.
Wedding Fantasy sits next to her. She goes to rub Fashion Jeans’ back, but Fashion Jeans flinches away. So Wedding Fantasy just sits on the carpet. She leans her head on the side of the couch as it gets dark outside, and Fashion Jeans cries herself to sleep.
*
At dawn, a barefoot woman steps out of the wall-less townhouse onto the driveway. She is naked under a poncho that used to be a blanket. She walks past the Glamour Corvette, and strides past Raggedy Ann’s tired ranch house. By the time she passes Snake Mountain she is running.
Sage Tyrtle’s work is available or upcoming in X-R-A-Y, The Offing, and Apex among others. She’s told stories on stages all over the world and her words have been featured on NPR, CBC, and PBS. She runs a free online writing group open to everyone. Twitter: @sagetyrtle