What a Gem

Harold Pollock cradled a jewel in his dry, leathery palm. When he stared at it the rest of the second-hand store faded away. He could no longer hear the beeping registers, the polite exchanges at the checkout counter, or the jingling bell over the door. Instead he was lost in the jewel's deep marine color, falling into the abyss of its crystal clear, flawless volume. It had to be fake, possibly acrylic or glass. If it were a real gemstone it would be worth millions, but here it was on sale for eight ninety nine plus tax. Even the gold pendant in which the gem was set had worn away along the edges showing brass or some other cheap metal beneath, and the chain that draped over the top of his hand felt like cheap nickel or steel. Yet the way the facets caught the light dazzled him, and he thought he could feel the whole pendant vibrating softly in his hand.

"Mr. Pollock?" The kind, perky voice of his favorite checkout-lady snapped him back into the real world. She was smiling at him, waving him over to her register.

Harold sighed. If he was a younger man he might have asked for her number by now. He smiled at her and limped over.

"How are you doing today Mr. Pollock?" she asked. Her brown eyes shone bright in the compact flourescent lighting.

He cleared his throat and shifted all of his weight onto his good leg. "Fine," he muttered, clasping the pendant in his fist.

"Did you find something interesting?" She glanced at his balled fist and the thin chain leaking out from behind his thumb.

Harold looked down at his hand. "Oh, right," he said, opening his fingers and extending his hand.

"Wow," she gasped dramatically. "It's beautiful." She took it and scanned the tag on the chain before handing it back and punching a couple buttons on the register. "Is it for a special someone?" She smiled deviously and winked at him.

Harold snorted silently and said nothing. She wouldn't understand. Nobody would. For a brief moment he wondered if his late wife Nancy would have liked the jewel. She would have thought it was pretty, but she'd never have worn it. No, this gem was not for her, nor was it for him.

The checkout lady gazed into his face with compassion and interest, trying to catch his train of thought. For a moment they said nothing. "Well," she said with a sigh, "that'll be nine dollars and ninety cents."

He glanced at her nametag. Amy. He would have to try to remember that. He pulled out his wallet and peeled out a ten dollar bill. The register chimed and the drawer popped out so she could fish out a dime.

"Here's your change," she said, still smiling. "Have a wonderful day Mr. Pollock."

Harold hesitated, grunted, and nodded at her before stuffing the pendant in the left pocket of his worn jeans and shoving his wallet into the back right pocket. He set the dime down on the counter, then he hobbled away wishing he had been able to say more.

Out in the parking lot he got in his car and began the drive home. All he could think about was the pendant and how it would look on Sarah. Every few minutes he patted his pocket, pressing the faceted surface into his thigh, feeling the smooth back of the pendant through the thin fabric of his old jeans. Perhaps it was because he had made the drive so many times, or maybe it was because the stone had him under some kind of trance, but as he pulled into his driveway he had the gut-wrenching realization that he had no recollection of the drive home. For a brief moment the thought got his heart racing, then he took a deep breath and made his way out of the car toward the front door.

The lock turned just as smoothly as it had ever since he'd disassembled and cleaned the mechanism. Once inside he closed the door behind him and sighed, flipping on the light switch.

"I'm home," he called into the silence of his lifeless house. As though in response, the compressor fan on his ancient refrigerator began to rattle. Harold groaned. He'd replaced it recently but the noise persisted, just like his miserable existence.

For a moment he paused and scanned the living room, taking in the beauty that he had collected over the years. Little trinkets and figurines adorned nearly every available surface in the room. He had lined up a collection of beautiful statuettes in front of his favorite reference books. There was a glorious angel, a pretty princess, a seductive mermaid, and a hand painted ceramic statuette of a cute little girl collecting flowers. A single painting hung next to the bookshelf on his otherwise bare walls. It was a depiction of a woman in a lovely, flowing gown holding a bright yellow flower. It, like all of the art in his home, was from the second-hand shop. He stared at the painting from time to time, letting his eyes wander along the beautiful curves and flowing form of the dress. Sometimes he would gaze into the woman's pretty face and wonder if she was a real person or the invention of the painter's imagination. He smiled at the painting and took a halting step toward the couch where Sarah was lying perfectly still on her back, just as he had left her.

"I brought you a gift," he said, reaching down to touch her cool, soft cheek. She was wearing the lovely little dress with blue flowers that he'd put on her that morning. The dress was made for a toddler's body shape, while Sarah had the proportions of a grown woman and only the height of a child. Of course, full sized dolls like Sarah were available, but Harold had ultimately decided that he was in no shape to wrangle something that large and heavy. Even dressing the half size doll was a workout. That morning he had given her a thorough bath, finally washing all the factory oils and grime off her smooth silicone body. Now he patted her baby powdered cheek and smiled. She had never been more clean and beautiful in the weeks since her arrival.

"Let's get you sitting down so we can try it on," he muttered. He folded her legs up at the hip one at a time, careful not to expose her panties. He lifted the arms so she wouldn't jam her delicate fingers into the cushions and rolled her onto her hindquarters into a sitting position. Then he wrestled the stiff metal joints in her arms until she looked a little more natural. "There," he said, smiling. He leaned away from her to take in the pose. It was still a little stiff, but Sarah always looked a little stiff. He chuckled at a joke he wouldn't bother coming up with since nobody but him would ever be able to appreciate it.

Harold extended his left leg up onto the coffee table and reached into the pocket to pull out the gift. The still rising sun cast its rays in through the window just to play in the glistening, flashing jewel. "What do you think?" he asked, letting it dangle in front of Sarah's face. The deep sea green gem matched the cool blue-green irises of her life-like glass eyes. She gazed right through the gem in the same way that she looked right through him most of the time. His shoulders dropped a bit. He took a deep breath and carefully spread the pendant's chain out to drape it over her soft blonde hair. After the bath he had put the wig back on and brushed it until it was shiny and smooth. He didn't want it catching on the cheap chain. He tucked a hand between the hair and the back of her neck and let the chain fill the space before dropping her long hair again.

The pendant hung nearly down to her waist. He laughed. "I guess I'll have to shorten the chain for you." He stood up, sucking air through his teeth with the exertion. Then he hobbled away from the couch and saw that the gem looked good on her. It just needed to rest higher on her torso.

He felt his eyes burning. Going out always left him feeling depleted. "I'm going to lie down, do you want to nap with me?" She stared straight ahead as though looking at the television in front of the couch. He looked at the black screen and saw her reflection. "Admiring the gem?" he asked, grinning. "I'll shorten the chain after my nap. You can sit and enjoy the view." He took a step toward the bedroom, then looked back over his shoulder at Sarah. "You look really pretty," he said. He sighed, then limped into the bedroom.

Harold slipped out of his clothes and back into his pajamas, then he slid under the covers. His bed was cool and soft, perfect for a nap. The relief of closing his eyes was soothing, and soon he drifted off to sleep.

***

Harold awoke to a thud somewhere in the house. He sprang up, his entire nervous system tingling. He listened carefully. Nothing was moving. There were no other sounds. He wiped a spot of drool from the corner of his mouth and swung his legs out. The bad leg protested with a shot of pain up through a tendon near the hip. He winced and slid down onto his feet. Something rustled out in the living room. His heart began to race.

With a tight chest and clenched jaw, he shuffled to the bedroom door and peeked out into the living room. A jolt of shock exploded in his head when he saw that Sarah was gone. He looked frantically around the room, but after a moment he laughed to himself.

"You gave me a scare, falling off the couch like that," he said, starting into the living room. Then he froze, staring wide-eyed at the edge of the coffee table.

One of Sarah's dainty hands had reached up and was grabbing the edge of the table. There was a soft grunting sound and heavy breathing. "Yeah," a young lady's voice moaned breathlessly. "You and me both."

Harold let out a howl and jumped back, grabbing his chest. He crashed into the wall by the television and leaned against it, staring in awe as Sarah's head peeked out from behind the dark walnut surface of the coffee table. Her hair flowed down and bounced as her whole body jerked awkwardly, her hand slipping off the table's edge.

She disappeared behind the table again with a soft thud and sighed. "Could you help me up, please?" Her voice would have been cute if it didn't make Harold's hair stand on end. She sounded sweet, with high, soft tones and the warmth of someone with a kind heart, but she should not be talking.

Harold clutched at his heart wondering if it was all just the final, deranged hallucination of a man having a fatal heart attack.

He heard the chain around her neck tinkling gently as she made another attempt at pulling herself up. "Oof," she huffed, getting an elbow up onto the table top. She looked up at Harold over her arm. Her beautiful eyes blinked and she stared at him curiously. "What's wrong?" she asked sincerely.

Harold's head was spinning, but he managed to stumble over and grab Sarah by the arm. He hoisted her onto her feet and let go, but she immediately began to wobble. She flailed her arms, he grabbed her again and steadied her, and she looked up at him smiling sheepishly.

"Thanks," she said.

He squeezed her arm gently. It still felt a lot like silicone, but something was different. His heart was thumping, still under the influence of the shot of adrenalyn that had exploded into his system. He lifted her up onto the couch and collapsed next to her. He shivered, wiping a cold sweat off his brow.

"Are you afraid?" Sarah asked.

He looked at her. There was a glint in her eyes that hadn't been there before. She looked at him under a furrowed brow. Her face had always been lovely, with glued-on eyelashes, painted brows, and rosy lips. But now there was life behind it all. The face was animated with the same complexity as a human face with its dozens of muscles and intricate, twitchy movements. Her eyes darted around his face, watching carefully, processing.

"You are a doll," he managed. He immediately felt bad. He came off more gruff than he normally was with her, and immediately her face twisted at his words.

She looked down. "I'm sorry," she said. Her shoulders slouched and she hung her head.

Hesitantly he put his hand on her back and patted her. "I'm not mad," he said softly. "Just... surprised."

She turned her shoulders toward him and smiled up into his face. "It's a good surprise," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

Harold chuckled. "Yes." He looked down at the gem dangling over her belly. A soft glow emanated from deep inside it.

She looked down at it also and gazed at it with wide eyes.

"I was going to shorten the chain for you," he said, "but now I'm wondering if maybe it's best not to."

Sarah took the pendant in her thin fingers and held it, slowly lifting it until it was at her eye level. "Magic," she whispered.

Harold nodded, staring at the glow at the center of the glassy jewel. His mind was racing.

Sarah slowly lowered the pendant and looked down at herself. She reached between her legs and felt around, ran her hands over various parts of her compact, anatomically correct body. She looked straight ahead at the black television screen and stared at her reflection thoughtfully.

A chill ran down Harold's spine. She seemed to know what she had been built for. A wave of shame washed over him. He'd never used her for the "intended" purpose. He opened his mouth to protest, to defend himself. He wanted to explain everything about his reasoning and justifications and...

Suddenly Sarah threw her arms around Harold, leaning against him and pressing her cheek into his ribs. She held him tightly and hummed contentedly. "Thank you," she sighed.

Harold went rigid. His mouth gaped. "I didn't do anything," he protested, holding his arms up stiffly in surprise.

She giggled. "Yes you did," she said. "You were kind to me. You have always treated me with respect and love. You cared for me gently and dressed me carefully. You spent time with me, watched movies with me, and had meals with me. That is why my heart is full of gratitude. Because you have always treated me like a person."

Harold melted and let his arms come down until he was holding her as well. He felt her cool hair against his forearm, he patted her soft shoulder with a weary hand. From somewhere deep within her tiny body, Sarah began to glow with the warmth of life. Harold closed his eyes and collapsed back against the couch, sinking into its cushions while Sarah held him close.

After a long, warm moment she released him and slid carefully off the couch. She spread her hands out and waited, finding her balance like someone who hasn't stood in years. Finally and smiled and reached behind her neck to grab the chain.

"Wait," Harold said, reaching out. "What if..."

But it was too late. She had already pulled the chain apart and removed it. To Harold's surprise, she handed it to him. "I love it, but you do need to make the chain shorter." She smiled.

"I... I don't understand," Harold said. "I thought it was the gem that gave you life."

Sarah laughed. "In a way, yes. But I don't think its magic sustains life, it only brings together the pieces of life that are already there."

Harold's mind turned her words over a few times but came up empty-handed.

She took a couple steps back, steadied herself, then twirled in place, her tiny socks twisting on the short carpet beneath her feet. She giggled and steadied herself again. "Do you think that life and consciousness need to be the same thing? Can you not have one without the other? And would you deny that love can give life? I think the gem combined your love with my consciousness and created life." She shrugged and gazed around the living room, her eyes full of curiosity and excitement.

Harold frowned and looked down at the gem. It wasn't glowing, though its faceted surface still flashed and sparkled as it always had. He took a deep breath and looked back up at Sarah who was wandering around, her head on a swivel as she looked up and around at everything in the house.

A tsunami of emotions overwhelmed him. Tears began to flow. "Oh Nancy," he whispered, sniffling. "I'm sorry."

Sarah turned to him with a look of concern on her face. "Why are you sorry to Nancy?"

Harold shook his head. "I just... I..." He choked and covered his face.

Sarah walked over to him and pulled one of his huge hands in her tiny hands. "Nancy would want you to be happy, right?"

Harold smiled, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he nodded.