I was eight years old when we moved to Pennsylvania.
I still played with dolls.
Then I met Susan.
I adored Susan. We were the same age but she seemed so much older and much worldlier.
And she was a tomboy.
I wanted to be just like her in every way.
She thought playing with dolls was babyish and stupid so I put them away.
My mother helped me arrange a little ‘house’ for them in a cupboard in my room, behind closed doors so Susan wouldn’t know when she came over to play.
Occasionally I would open the cupboard to visit (okay, to play) with them.
They weren’t baby dolls but sophisticated Barbie’s and one doll named Robin Jr. because she looked just like me!
One winter day as I was playing with my dolls, surreptitiously of course, Susan snuck up to my bedroom window (which just happened to be a picture window that faced the front yard.)
My curtains were open and the snow was high enough to give Susan a perch for a full and unobstructed view into my room and what I was doing.
You know that feeling you get that someone is watching you? I got that feeling and I turned to see Susan looking through the window.
I’ll never forget the look of disappointment, disdain, and betrayal on her face.
It took me months to win back her trust.
I even went so far as to take horseback riding lessons with her, even though the horses scared the crap out of me!
I don’t think she ever fully forgave the duplicity.