Remoter Heaven

Since I was a little girl, I have always held a strange fascination for toys. It is not one most can comprehend, nor is it something I can readily explain. As an only child, I sought solace in the world of make believe, the world of toys. Like most other little girls, I would lay my toys out in a row, talking to them as if they were alive. I did not name my toys -- No. They told me their names, quietly, in a whisper only I could hear, and I would smile slightly, and thank them for telling me the secret. My parents would only chuckle indulgently whenever someone asked me for the name of one of my toys, and I gravely replied, “Why don’t you ask them, yourself? Perhaps they will tell you…”

My parents could have thought it was only a “phase”, like they call it, I was going through, this “liking” of toys. Yet even they got a little worried when I started to grow up, and the only thing I seemed to care for was still my toys. How could I explain to them, that the world of toys was the only world I truly belonged in? For it was the simple truth; everywhere I go people get the impression that I am “like a child”, “ a loner”, “eccentric”. They do not think I hear them, but I do, though true to the spirit of make believe I lead them to think I do not.

Still, I never did quite well in school. I got passable, average marks, that much is true, but everyone knows the reason is that I just have no interest in these things. My parents tried to persuade me to “live my life properly”, as they said. They even brought me to a psychiatrist, once, but the only thing she said was that I was “escapist”. Naturally, my parents never mentioned that visit in front of me. They never say anything to children, and they delude themselves, thinking that we, in our remoter heaven, do not know.

When I was about eighteen I started getting dizzy spells, marvellous times when I would dream of flying, of freedom, and most of all, of being in the world I truly belonged in – the world of toys. I enjoyed, and indeed relished, those times, but they caused the people around me to worry. They brought me to the doctor; it was the first time I did not know what they were saying, though my parents wept, under the deep dark shroud of night, for a few days after that.

Something must have changed, for they no longer pestered me about spending less time with my toys. I had many toys, a whole roomful and more of them, and when I thought of the people who did not, could not enjoy the magic, I felt immeasurably sad. Soon, I completed my studies. When my parents asked me what I wanted to do, I simply replied that I wanted to sell toys. No, not sell. Bring, spread the magic to children and adults. Imagine my surprise when they agreed, though not before exchanging an unreadable, but deeply sad look between them.

I now stand in my own shop, one bright and cheery – patterned wallpaper, sunlight streaming in from full-length windows, toys sitting on every shelf. Waiting, just waiting, for that bright-eyed soul to come by, so that they can tell their secrets. Some are new, but most are slightly worn with love.

The bell at the door tinkles; a little fair-haired girl-child of about five steps in, her mother in tow. I watch as their faces are slowly transformed to wonder at the sparkling world of make-believe, the world of toys. Even the mother seems revitalised as the two go looking among the shelves of dolls.

"For her birthday," she says, a little apologetically as she turns to me, before being tugged away to see yet another marvel. I nod, even though she does not see it. It is enough that they understand, for however short a time.

I look around, and my gaze is drawn to my “assistant”, the one Father appointed to “help”, though I know she meants to drag me back to reality if I fall too deep into the world of the Free. Her face is strangely blank, like the doll who sits beside the cash register. I look into the wide, unseeing, dark eyes, full of loneliness, but also that glimmer of hope, as she watches the world go by.

And I smile gently, slightly. I am lost, but I know the secret.

A/N: This was written for my 2003 English Prelims…luckily the examiner kind of got it, so I didn’t do too badly. ;) “A remoter heaven” was inspired by a poem in PDD (Poems Deep and Dangerous)…something about “the robin egg’s blue of your remoter heaven”, referring, of course, to children.