The Mannequin

He stares at me unnervingly from the back corner of the room with his watery blue eyes. I've seen those sapphire eyes many times before. His expression is slightly sour, like he disapproves. I lean forward at the edge of my mother's rocker and knit faster. The needles click together hurriedly. I'm anxious to finish the stocking hat which will soon cover his bald head, so exposed. His skin is flawless but one eyebrow is missing, giving his face a glimpse of the bizarre.

I chose a lovely blue and silver yarn that alternates in simple bursts of color. It will cover the baldness and accentuate his eyes. Those eyes that are staring right through me.

I feel like I've done him wrong. Shirtless, he watches as I work. The matching sweater will be next. Makeup will have to be used to retrace the brow. I will restore him to his glory of yesterday. He will grace my father’s empty store window once again.

Though he won't know it. My dad’s blue eyes stare blankly at me from a corner of my mind. I will never erase the question flashing in place of the old sparkle. The question that hurts so much to acknowledge each time he forgets who I am.

I am racing the clock. To remind him of the past. To chase away the sadness and despair. To remind those eyes, turning blank.