Blue, pink and ragged, a cloth doll lays on the ground. In the morning light, its threaded eyes seem almost gray. But I know. I know what lies behind the clouding dust motes.

In 1999 I know that the ripped fabric of its bodice was clean and soft between the budding teeth of a one year old. I know that the stain on its back was a kiss from the happy bowl of soy sauce, placed between a girl and her first make believe friend.

In 2001 I know the coldness of the fluff inside is from the loneliness of being left in a sandpit all night long at pre-school. The girl cried all the way until morning before faithfully digging her most precious possession out after her bout of premature memory loss receded.

In 2003 I know the anticipation the doll must’ve felt, being clutched in the sweaty palms of a child just entering kindergarten. Any worries for its owner was unnecessary and the doll was tucked away in the corner of a bed three days after school started. Its tears would be saved for later, many times later, when the girl who slept in the bed would sob after every piano lesson.

In 2009, new fears reached the doll and the hands that carried the doll around were no longer small. The mouth near the head of the doll learned new words, bad words, and asked the doll what they meant in the quietness of night. “People in middle school say these kinds of things,” the mouth would whisper. “They say dangerous things and I don’t know what they mean.” The doll wanted to reply, “Not knowing is good. Please don’t ever come to know for the rest of your life.” But the doll couldn’t speak and so kept silent. It could only lay waiting for the tragic day when the mouth would know the meaning of the filth in the air.

In 2012, the big year, the doll was neglected and left to gather dust. Hands that once busied with tea parties and play fights now dirtied themselves with lead and countless hours of homework. This would continue for the next four years, and the doll did not resent the girl for it.

In 2015 the family embarked on a cleaning spree and every unnecessary item in the house was to be donated or thrown away.

A blue, pink and ragged doll lays on the ground. I know. When my parents come in with the trash bag, I know what they don’t know.