When I was a kid I went to visit my older sister at the house she shared with a boyfriend. Giving me a tour of the property, he showed me around his old barn. I found this sweet vintage Polish doll in a corner and he said it must have belonged to the previous owners, and that I could keep it. I’ve always treasured her, and she sits prettily on a shelf in my living room.
Years later, long after they had broken up, the boyfriend I had visited hanged himself in that very barn. I’d seen him a few times over the years and it was apparent to all that he had a terrible drug addiction, but I really don’t know why he chose to kill himself. He was young, around 30 years old or so when he died. I think of him and his kindness towards me every time I look at the doll. And I still remember just how she looked when I found her in the dusty, slanted, peaceful light of that old barn.