"Dolls"

"Dolls"

I’m remembering a Doll Hospital. Well actually it was a soda fountain. Yes that far back. It was a soda fountain stationary store toy shop news stand,…or news agent for folks in the Commonwealth.  It was around the corner from my childhood home in Brooklyn. 

This in the 1950’s.
This was where I got comic books model airplanes, and “Cott” orange soda. “…it’s Cott to be Good!” 

The corner soda fountain was  a Doll Hospital. Rather it was a front for one. They didn’t actually do brain surgery on the little folks there. Once a week a mysterious lady would come by with a large box. She’d scoop up her patients their particulars, and drive away in a Volkswagen.
The VW is what made her mysterious.  

My dad would take my sister’s dolls to the soda fountain for admission to the “Mysterious” Doll Hospital. This because no mortals outside of the VW lady had ever seen it. 

I had a vision of long rows of beds in white halls filled with bandaged dolls. This with nurses doctors visiting relatives, and candy machines in the corner. One hoped for a bright happy doll convalescence. Hair restored strand by strand eyes healed with just the right hint of hazel arms legs hands heads renewed! 

At last the awaited call from the fountain. 

“Your dolls are all better you can come take them home now!”

Happier words never heard by a little girl,…or closeted boy.
'But wait there’s more. 

The healed doll, and or teddy sitting at the dinner table. My mom saying she has to take it easy for a while. Which means don’t feed her to the dog. Life returns our family reunited.

Mind you there’s a whole world of scary internal contradictions with this. Ya know all that class race stuff. However I’m going for a happy ending here.

The End.