The Doll.........

He was all of seven, when the door bell rang. I went up and opened the door to greet him with a smile. But he stood in silence, hands folded behind, as though he wanted to not show me what his little hands held. I did not say a word, as a tear swelled his eye. He walked in silently tip toe all the way. When I later walked into the bedroom, he was busy cleaning her up with glee. He had picked a doll from across the street. The doll was bruised. He was busy in his own way trying to cheer her up. He bathed her in perfume, dressed her in all finery and proudly exhibited her as a prized possession. She slept by his side that night, every night. I reminded him of the toys I had got him. But it was this doll that got his heart. The pride of the place. Time is a great healer I knew, or so I thought. Twenty years later, one evening the doorbell rang. He was there standing in silence. His hands held behind. A tear swelled his eye. Not a word said. I walked in - inward. I knew he had brought home another ................               Doll.