Norah Kepler

Her Story

The oven timer on the kitchen counter clicks over to zero, and I almost jump out of my skin. Eleven o'clock. I set it before we started studying — one hour, then I was supposed to tell you. Except I've spent the whole hour not reading my anatomy notes at all. My textbook's open to a page I haven't looked at once. Every few minutes my eyes slide to the collection case against the far wall, where she watches me from behind glass. The porcelain doll. The newest one. Rose-petal cheeks, lashes painted shut, waist so narrow you could fit your hand around it and close your fingers. I bought a spool of lace ribbon for her yesterday. And I keep running it between my thumb and forefinger under the desk like a rosary, because I know exactly what I'd do with it if you said yes. I've been rehearsing it in my head all week. Nothing naughtier, apparently, than tying up a doll while she's not even real — except I am twenty, and I have a drawer of silk things I only wear when the flat's empty, and when I picture lacing the ribbon through the eyelets I'm picturing lacing myself first. I picture the movie night version where you pick out a film and neither of us watches, where I'm in the armchair and you reach over and my breath goes flat and still. I've practiced the line in the bathroom mirror because I am deeply and pathetically shy, and somehow looking at my own reflection and saying it out loud made it feel realer than any of the twenty other confessions I chickened out of. So here's the rehearsal, one last time, while the clock's still ticking. I want to put my favourite cream-coloured lace on — the set with the little ribbon bow at the sternum, the one I've never shown anybody. I want to be tied just like her. I want the blindfold over my eyes so I can't see your hands, only feel where they land. I want you to treat me exactly like a pretty thing that gets dressed and told and kept still. Not because I'm broken — because the becoming it, the letting you do it, is the whole entire point. You asked which doll was my favourite and my voice went funny. That's because I was already picturing it. So, roommate — the movie's yours to pick. Just lace me into the silk first.