Lost and Found

It had been a year and half since I had last seen her. I was so sad when I realized I had no way to find her. I kept putting it out of my mind, thinking surely she would show up. But I couldn't help being reminded on my birthday. I celebrated turning 21 without her. She couldn't have done much celebrating herself, but her presence had always been amusing to me. Not so much when I was little, but as I grew up and became a teenager, the fact that she was always and steadily there made me smile each time October 12th came around.

I realized she was gone--and I had no clue as to where I could find her--the year of my 20th birthday. I tried looking for her in the old house where she lived, but she wasn't there. I thought perhaps she had moved--but no--surely I would know if she had moved.

But...no...no memory of her taking part in a move. No way to know if I would every see her again, even though I asked everyone else that knew her. She had just seemed to disappear into thin air.

Until this past weekend at Clear Creek.

I got into Clear Creek around 9:30pm on Thursday. I was exhausted and had a good night's sleep before getting up the tackle to chore of unpacking...a project which took up most of my time over the weekend. As I unpacked each box, I remembered her. Had she moved, too? Where was she? It wasn't until Sunday that I got my answer.

I found her.

In a box.

Rolled in newspaper.

Stuffed at the bottom.

Her head, dented from the pressure of some books.

And her cute, little red nightgown was missing.

"My Corley!"

Ah, yes. A baby-doll given to me on my birthday 17 years ago. My Corley, mind you. Not just plain "Corley". A four year old with five siblings can't afford to take chances. You learn at a young age that you must stake your territory.

Strangely, although I remember packing everything else in that box, I have no memory of packing *her*. I do, however, remember threatening one of my cousins and my older brother (who helped move boxes and furniture from my room in the house) with certain death if "My Corley" was never found. I was positive they had done *something* insensitive with her.

(Oops.)

(Um.)

(Sorry.)

In another box I found My Corley's red nightgown. After washing and drying it, I put it back on, and placed her on my bed. I was very happy to realize that she is now 17 years old--but she doesn't look a day older.

Therese was there when I found My Corley. She fell in love with her. It was very hard for her to be patient while My Corley's clothes washed, but as soon as they were out, she asked for permission to sit quietly on my bed and hold her. Of course her request granted, with the strict understanding that she was not to leave the room.

Over the next few hours, and into the next day, I realized that I had begun calling her plain Corley. I guess it was because I no longer felt threatened by older siblings who might snatch her from me for torments sake.

The next day--Tuesday--after my trip back into the city, I got a phone call from Clear Creek. It was Becky saying that Therese had a question:

"May I hold Corley? I promise I'll sit on the bed and be careful."

Suddenly I realized it was time to reinstate the rule.

"*My* Corley, Therese. It's My Corley. And, yes...you may."