Six of them.
The Cashier saw them through the windows.
The Biker entered.
No dolls this time.
He carried a cardboard box.
The Cashier smiled.
“You’re back.”
He nodded.
“Got something for you.”
The box was covered in stickers.
Princesses.
Stars.
He placed it on the counter.
The Cashier opened it.
Inside were twelve photographs.
Eleven hospital rooms.
One living room.
Each photograph showed a little girl holding a princess doll.
Some had no hair.
Some wore hospital gowns.
Some wore masks.
Some smiled.
Some looked exhausted.
Every single one wore a paper crown.
The Cashier began crying before reaching the last photo.
The twelfth was different.
It showed the Biker’s granddaughter.
The original photograph.
Paper crown.
Hospital gown.
Huge smile.
On the back someone had written:
The first princess.
The Cashier looked at him.
“Who made this?”
“Nurses.”
He handed her an envelope.
Inside were thank-you notes.
Child handwriting.
Parent handwriting.
Nurses.
One said:
Thank you for making our room feel normal for ten minutes.
Another:
She slept holding it all night.
Another:
My daughter said she finally got invited into the princess club.
The Cashier could barely read.
The Biker watched quietly.
Then she reached one note written by a little girl.
Tell the toy lady she picked good crowns.
The Cashier laughed through tears.
“She remembered me?”
“Apparently.”
The Biker smiled.
The Cashier looked at him.
“How are you?”
The smile disappeared slowly.
He considered the question seriously.
“Bad.”
The honesty surprised her.
Then:
“Better than last week.”
She nodded.
“That’s something.”
“Yeah.”
He looked toward the doll aisle.
The shelf had been restocked.
More princesses.
Bright dresses.
Perfect boxes.
The Biker stared for several seconds.
The Cashier noticed.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
“First time seeing them since.”
They stood quietly.
The Cashier wanted to say something comforting.
Everything sounded wrong.
So she repeated what he had told her.
“You don't have to be okay.”
The Biker looked at her.
Then smiled.
“Correcting yourself again.”
She smiled back.
He turned toward the door.
Before leaving, the Cashier called:
“Wait.”
He stopped.
She came around the counter.
“Can I ask one thing?”
“Sure.”
“Why princesses?”
The Biker looked surprised.
Then thoughtful.
He leaned against the counter.
“When she first got sick, she lost her hair.”
The Cashier listened.
“She hated mirrors.”