My story, The Doll tells how I came to have Maria. She was a beautiful dark haired doll with a wonderful red silk dress trimmed in black who came to me in a shoebox. I kept her for years because she meant all of the good things in life like love and happiness and caring, things I did not have as a child. This then is her legacy.

I married young, eighteen and again I put myself in a loveless unhappy situation. We tend to live what we know and that was what I knew but the one thing I saved and treasured was Maria. I didn't look at her everyday but she was there and that brought me a subliminal sort of comfort.

One summer day I happened to step out my front door and sitting on the curb was a tiny little girl. She was so small I looked around for her mother. There was nobody in sight so I approached her to see if she might be lost. She looked up at me with very sad eyes, those eyes were the window to her soul. She had dark hair, almost black and olive skin, she was one of the little ones that lived on the fringes of society, a society that somehow lost sight of the fact she was a little girl and focused more on her nationality, Indian from the reservation located in the state. She did not speak being very shy but she would shake her head when I asked her a question. Her demeanor spoke volumes. She was not lost, she came from nearby, where, exactly I never knew.

All summer she came to sit on the curb under an old tree that grew precariously on a tiny postage size plot. The tree had long outgrown it's space and the roots were uplifting the sidewalk. She never spoke to me but would smile if I talked to her. Sometime and I don't know when exactly it came to me that she needed a friend, someone she could talk to, just her and her friend. I came out of my apartment with a small shoebox, old and worn but it held a real treasure, Maria.

I showed it to her and those eyes! Those eyes told a story of a little girl falling in love with a beautiful doll just as I had done years before. How could I not give her my most treasured gift? How could I not share the love I had for my little doll.

My Maria had been with me through so many hard times and now it was time for her to help another child. I told the little girl her name and watched as she moved away down the street with her new friend, holding her tightly. I even suspect she spoke to her.

It was weeks and I never saw that tiny girl again. One day while visiting a second hand store I overheard two ladies who were volunteering there talking to each other. It went something like this:

Lady One: "I heard that grandmother "Soandso's" granddaughter was killed yesterday."

Lady Two: "She was killed, poor baby. So little. I guess she was hit by a truck, died instantly."

Lady One: "Oh no, what a tragedy."

Lady Two: "Yes it is. I guess she will be buried this week sometime. Something kind of strange though, she had a doll with her, nobody knows where it came from but she dragged that doll around everywhere so that little doll will be buried with her. I guess that's about all she had."

I left the building in tears. I still tear up today. But I know that the little girl is not alone, Maria will be there with her for eternity or as long as it takes.

And sadly still, I never knew her name.