FICTION You Could Make a Lovely Light Jeannie Wilson "I love you," it said. "Change my diaper." "I want a drink of water." The life-like voice didn't fool Angie. She understood the doll wasn't really talking because it said the same things over and over. Still, the other dolls never even tried to talk. At night when the black shadows whispered, "bad Angie," she would pull the string again and again, listening for the words, "I love you." It doesn't know I'm bad, she thought now as she smoothed the doll's pink dress. "You love me, don't you?" she asked and pulled the string. "I love you," the doll answered but there was no message in its painted blue eyes. Angie put the doll aside and climbed onto the couch beside her mother. "I'm sorry I spilled milk," she said. "Hush, Angie. Go play." The woman didn't look up from the television screen where Alan Norton was threatening to leave his wife, Sue. Her expression mirrored the anguish portrayed by the actress, and the beauty of her even features was marred by a pinched look, and by the dark circles under her eyes. When Angie snuggled close she again snapped, "Go play." With a sigh Angie scooted down and picked up her doll. "Let's go to the park and find Daddy," she said. "We'll tell him we won't make noise if he'll move home." The child wandered aimlessly among the velvet-covered chairs as if, even in pretense, there was little hope of finding her father. She was a tiny thing, with delicate features, and hair as pale-gold and silky as her doll's hair. Her eyes held the same lifeless expression as the doll's until she noticed a patch of color on the white wall. A ray of sunlight, fractured by a nearby glass vase, had splashed its brilliance. Angle's small face came to life and her blue eyes sparkled. "It's a piece of the rainbow!" she exclaimed. Jeannie Wilson lives in Grantsville, West Virginia, and writes poetry and fiction and nonfiction pieces. She has won first-place awards in a number of contests during the past half-dozen years. 22 Hesitandy she touched the glowing spot, and squealed when the color washed her hand, then held her doll's face against the wall to see it streaked with red, green, and purple. But how did a rainbow get in? Mystified, she glanced about and noted the shimmering cut-glass vase. Putting the doll aside, she picked up the crystal container, causing the rainbow to move. She lifted the vase higher, lowered it, tilted it from side to side, all the time watching the shifting colors. It was the vase that made the rainbow. A magic vase! Her face flushed with excitement as she gleefully rocked the heavy glass, causing bits of color not only to flit about but to change shapes. Vivid hues flashed on ceiling and walls, danced, leaped, darted, faster and yet faster as the crystal rocked at an every increasing speed. Until it slid across the table and crashed to the floor. "Angie, what in thunder?" A hand stung Angle's cheek. "Go to your chair, young lady. All I have to worry about and you ..." Neither finishing her sentence, nor picking up the shattered glass, the woman rushed back to lose her worries in the problems of the Nortons. Angie picked up her doll, then pulled a small rocker around to face a door that opened to stairs leading down to the street. She setded into the chair and using the tail of her dress, wiped the doll's dry eyes. "Don't cry," she said. "Big girls don't cry." But Daddy had cried when he went out the door. Angie studied the door, then threw the doll into the air and caught it. "How's my little chickadee?" She tried to speak in her father's voice. "I want a drink of water," the doll answered in response to the pull of its string. Angie sighed and looked again at the door. There was no...