Lavelle

It was during his third year that Lavelle started to gray.

Several weeks into the change, on a rather important day, he furiously lathered his leather coating with a bronzing agent to match his original hue. The bedroom mirror taunted his lackluster efforts. His frantic eyes darted between the door to the other room and the window above the bed. In his haste, Henri had forgotten to close the latter. Henri, his creator, had long since informed Lavelle of this inevitable graying. He did, however, imply it would take much longer to occur. Enough time for Lavelle to explore the outside world and find others like himself. Yet, his body was already betraying him.

Henri’s family had run a small boutique in Paris when he and his brothers were drafted into the army. After the war, as the only survivor, he resolved to take over the business and never again leave the city. “I’ve seen enough of the world, and it’s not for me,” he once told Lavelle. “But maybe you’ll find something I couldn’t.”

Henri created Lavelle, a simple makeshift doll, as a reminder of the family he yearned for, so he was all the more surprised when Lavelle began to move and speak on his own accord. Henri himself had no idea how or why Lavelle had come to life. He told his creation that he was something of a miracle, and since he wasn’t made of flesh he would likely last far longer than any human.

After years of searching, Henri had finally found another creation like Lavelle and orchestrated an introduction between the two of them. The individual was already in the other room, waiting for him. Henri described the creation to Lavelle as different from himself, but more alike than anything he’d heard of. This same news that would have excited Lavelle a few weeks prior now brought him dread. They were expecting him to join them, but he couldn't bring himself to approach the door.

Lavelle had never left the apartment. Henri believed the world wasn’t ready to know of his existence, and the time would come for him to get the chance to see the world for himself. In three years, that time hadn’t come.

Unlike Lavelle, Henri had received abundant visitors to the apartment. Lavelle would have to hide in the closet during his creator’s frequent noisy endeavors in the bedroom. Lavelle always hoped Henri would find some fulfillment from these interactions, but his resigned demeanor suggested otherwise.

The container made a satisfying click as Lavelle finished applying the substance and stared at his reflection. It’s like Henri’s hiding me on purpose, he thought. The lingering light beamed from the window, licking the edge of the bed. Inviting him. Perhaps Henri knew that Lavelle was going to come out defective and was embarrassed to show him to anyone. A faulty representation of his work.

But that didn’t sound like Henri, a man who had always taken care of him and told him what to expect from the outside world. It was because Henri had been so understanding of Lavelle’s curiosity that Lavelle had never tried to leave. That, and he was deathly afraid to face such a daunting reality alone. The superficial world outside would be less likely to accept him now.

I can’t go outside, Lavelle thought. That opportunity had passed him by. If he had already met someone, anyone, they would have at least remembered what he looked like before graying. They would have a different image to conjure.

Lavelle’s mind raced with all the other methods he had tried to hide the graying. Paint, until it washed off. A scarf, until Henri asked about it. He tried cutting some of his material and sewing it over the gray areas, but this proved to be extremely uncomfortable. He undid the work without Henri noticing.

Lavelle jumped onto the bed and yearningly regarded the setting sun outside. He had spent too much time in the dark recently. It seemed like every ray of light exposed another blemish, another spot he hadn’t noticed.

Truthfully, Lavelle was excited when he first heard of this opportunity to meet another creation. He was excited to compare experiences, and perhaps figure out how they came to be. They would have a bond unlike anything Henri or any human had ever seen. But he couldn’t meet anyone confidently anymore. To have someone, perhaps the only one like him, reject him on account of his current state would be unbearable. Solitude was nothing new for him, but rejection would be. To experience it at such an important time, the first time, would forever dampen his will to continue.

Curiosity tugged at him. Would this other creation also be a doll or something more refined? He couldn’t bear to see it with all its color while he decayed.

Footsteps echoed from behind the bedroom door. He faced the window, where the last bit of light tucked itself behind the neighboring building. He pulled himself up to the frame and steadied himself as he looked at the cobblestone street below. He never imagined the drop to be so intimidating. Facing the door one last time, a pain poked his insides as he imagined his counterpart in the other room. Perhaps it would be there when he returned. Perhaps he’d find others like him outside. Perhaps he would find a way to reverse his condition.

Then he would walk back with confidence.