By Cheryl Rushing

The following is my entry in the WritersWeekly Summer 2008 24-hour Short Story Contest.  I won a door prize, which is better than what I won in the winter contest – nothing!  A list of winners is at that link.  Here is the entry:

Patsy Puddles

“Mama! Mama! Come quick!” she heard Emma call from the den.

The urgency in Emma’s voice made Stacy’s heart skip a beat. She sprinted into the next room, still holding the dish towel. “What? What’s wrong?”

Emma pointed to the TV. “That’s what I want for Christmas.”

On the screen was an advertisement for a large baby doll, complete with carriage and bottle. The commercial was just ending, showing a blonde girl lovingly cradling the doll, and the announcer said, “Find Patsy Puddles at these fine retailers,” and a list of them appeared on the screen.

“Mama, can we go see Santa right now?” Emma asked. She sat on the carpet, still in her pink tutu, little sweat soaked curls dried around her face and neck. Juice box and small bowl of fish shaped crackers had been abandoned.

Stacy smiled at her. “Go take a bath,” she said. “I’ll finish the dishes and then we’ll go.”

“OK!” Emma jumped up and raced into the bathroom.

Stacy sighed as she returned to the kitchen. Patsy Puddles. She wondered how much it was. She wondered if she’d be able to afford it with the rent already late and her hours cut back at work. Thankfully her mother had paid for the ballet lessons, or that would have to stop, too.

At least the trip to the mall was free. Maybe they’d even get a pretzel to share. Emma loved that.

The Santa line was long and winding. Harried parents tried to corral itchy children as they inched slowly towards the big man. Emma was impatient, but amused herself by dancing awkwardly in her snow boots, flailing her skinny arms to keep from falling over backwards.

Emma had found a couple of girls to play with. Their voices rang out over the crowd like church bells. “I’m going to ask Santa for a PatsyPuddles doll,” Emma said.

“Me, too! Me, too!” crowed the other girls.

The mother behind Stacy sighed. “Patsy Puddles,” she muttered bitterly.

Stacy turned to her. “Yours wants one, too?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Every little girl on the planet wants one. But they must have stopped making them in 1995 because every place I’ve been to is sold out.”

Stacy frowned. “Even Toy-porium on Juniper?”

“Even Toy-porium. He says he sold out his last one in June and hasn’t been able to secure another shipment.”

Stacy shook her head. The line continued to inch, and finally they were at the front. Emma threw herself into the big man’s lap and told him what she wanted. She slid off his lap and minced down the stairs.

“He says I have to be a very good girl, Mama.”

“Do you think you can do that?”

Emma looked at her for a moment and shrugged.

They passed three toy stores on the way out, all proclaiming sales, each with a prominently featured display sign that said “Patsy Puddles: SOLD OUT.”

When she got home she called her mother. “I’ve been everywhere, Stacy. Absolutely everywhere. No one has that doll.”

For the next few days Emma was a dream child. She would help with the dishes, pick up her toys, even turn down the TV whenever asked. Each night she prayed to Santa, reminding him how good she was.

Stacy did all she could at the restaurant. She tried to pick up extra shifts, and one afternoon hit pay dirt, overhearing two women talking about a toy store she’d never heard of in the next town over. Apparently it was a creepy little place, nearly hidden from view, but they were known to have toys you couldn’t find anywhere else.

She told them about her daughter’s Patsy Puddles obsession, and they laughed. “I doubt he’ll have that,” one of the women said. But just the same, when Stacy cleared the table she found a $20 bill tucked into a napkin with the words “For Emma’s present,” written on it. The doll was nearly twice that, but if she could find it and put it on layaway or something, she’d be all set.

She drove to the next town and found the store after passing it twice. As she walked in a bell tinkled overhead. There was one other woman in the store, paying for her purchases at the front counter.

Stacy perused the shelves and found 3 Patsy Puddles dolls tucked in a corner. The other woman was paying for one, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before they were all gone. She took the doll up to the counter to ask about layaway.

“Sorry, we don’t have layaway,” the clerk told her.

“Thanks anyway,” she said. Three other people entered the store. The clerk turned to them and Stacy headed back to the corner. She noticed an empty spot behind the puzzles on a low shelf and she tucked the bright pink box behind them, out of view.

Hopefully it would still be there next week when she got paid.

“This is NOT for sale!” the old man boomed. Stacy sat up in bed with a start. She’d been having the same dream all week.

She swung her arm over the edge of the bed and rooted around underneath it, pulling out the garish pink box. She breathed a sigh of relief. Just a dream.

They’d have a Merry Christmas after all.

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