No, not the play every single theatre department does every single summer. Annie the doll. The doll that I got when I was either one or two years old. It’s been so long that the story of when I received her has faded and warped in my mom’s mind, so I was either one or two.

Anyway, we all know what Raggedy Anne looks like, arms and legs with lines of stitching in the middle, a blue dress with little red flowers all over, tiny pantyhose that I always considered to be a diaper, and, of course, vibrant, red yarn for hair. And that’s who Annie was, so many may think I just got her name from her character, but, back to the overdone play, I actually got her name from the VHS tape of Annie that I watched probably every single day. I don’t know what it was about that movie, but I could not stop watching! So, it was only appropriate that I name my 24/7 companion after the lovable orphan Annie. Now, I had multiple toys and stuffed animals that I brought around everywhere, but Annie meant the most to me. Maybe it was because she was the oldest, or the smallest, but for a few years in my early life, I could not be without her.

One night, when I was, I’d say, about four-years-old, my sisters, there were only two at the time, mom and I decided to watch The Wizard of Oz. I went along with it, but was not the biggest supporter of this decision. Why? Because at four-years-old, the Wicked Witch of the West scared the socks right off my feet. But despite my uncontrollable fear, we all got our blankets and pillows together, cuddled close on the two couches in my basement, and began to watch the movie.
Almost immediately, I realized something was wrong. When I knew the Wicked Witch was about to pop up on screen, I clutched my elbows as if hugging myself, but I was supposed to me hugging someone else. Annie. I didn’t have her! How could I have been so naïve, when preparing for the scariest movie of my life, that I forgot Annie? I immediately started crying, over-emphasizing the terror I felt realizing she was not in my arms. My big sister barely sympathized, she just wanted to watch the movie without hearing me scream and cry about a doll. I couldn’t help myself! I needed her to comfort me and settle my fears in the face of the Wicked Witch.

My mom and I frantically looked for her, but didn’t find her hiding spot right away, which only made my cries louder. Then, under all the commotion, beneath my tears, south of my sobbing, inside my chest, my heart began to hurt. I swear to you this, seeing that my closest friend could’ve been lost forever caused my heart to break a little, making it ache and ache on top of my sobbing. This great force of my first broken heart was slicing through my mind, making tears fall like my cereal on the floor that morning.

I couldn’t believe such a terrible thing could happen to me, but I soon began to accept, slowly, the fact that she was gone forever and I would have to spend the rest of my life searching for another doll as good as her. None of them would be good enough, and I wouldn’t be able to accept a new companion with this unfortunate broken heart.

Then, through the tears, the sobs, my sister yelling, and the faint sound of Dorothy talking to a scarecrow, a ray of light split through my dark basement. It was my mom, holding out Annie. Instantly, my sobs cut off, my tears dried up, and my heart formed back together. I took the doll, using her little cloth hands to dry off my face, and laid back down on the couch, snuggling under my blanket, prepared to take on the Wicked Witch with Annie by my side.

The End