The Story Of Rachel

This is the story of a headless mannequin’s journey through tragedy and triumph, as well as how she ended up at a college house concert party, as the center of attention for the first time in her life. In order to properly understand how Rachel was thrown into this life-changing situation, we have to first understand how I came to meet her. 

On a Saturday, I and a fellow classmate ventured out to the far away land of Goodwill Outlets. In this space between traditional thrifting and heaps of donated goodies lies a gray area where dozens of fashion-hungry people search and sift through unwanted clothes and other items. I’m a rookie in the realm of thrifting, yet as we were about to move toward the cashier line, we spotted a disassembled jumble of legs and arms.

I was initially hesitant to purchase such an odd assortment of mannequin parts, as the purpose of their use would be a mystery. Soon an idea was formulated in my noggin: to transport the mannequin to a new home. For too long it had been unwanted, cast away into the shadows, and in one simple act I could reclaim this lost piece of history and throw it into the limelight. To sweeten the deal, it was only $15, which was reduced to $10 once I revealed my interest to an employee.

A tattered darkened husk of a plastic body–a proponent of designer clothing store displays–now found in a garbage pit of bustling shoppers. I knew at once this would be a rescue mission. Against my classmate’s better impulses and in line with what I knew my friends would enjoy, I purchased the headless mannequin in its entirety of disassembled pieces. She was soon named Rachel; her limbs were thrown into the back of my trunk.

Later that day, I dropped off Rachel’s limbs at my friends’ apartment near campus, and they were taken in with loving and appreciative arms. I didn’t end up seeing Rachel again until about a week or two later when I visited the apartment and we were reunited. In the time that had passed, she had grown to amass something of a fanbase, many residents of the apartment greeting her on the porch as they entered and exited. 

Now, she appeared confidently dressed in pajamas and a T-shirt. Soon the musicians entered the stage, which was actually the porch itself. It was Rachel’s moment to finally become the center of attention she was always meant to be. I took Rachel off the stage and carried her to the crowd of dozens, in which she became an instant party idol. 

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Discarded and lost a couple weeks ago, and being sold for dirty cheap dollars, Rachel was just that only a few weeks prior. Everybody deserves a second chance at redemption, and to me that’s what this felt like. As we enjoyed the concert towards the end raindrops began to fall. In the great evacuation of the porch concert electrical wires from impending watery doom, I grabbed Rachel to bring her inside as well. 

I screamed her name like Harvey Dent does in “The Dark Knight” and rushed up a winding narrow staircase as, tragically, her legs became detached from her torso. Carrying both pieces up the stairs and screaming her name like a mantra as many people made their way past me, likely observing me as a goofball, I finally laid her to rest.

Is it too much to make sense of this confusing world? Was Rachel just the center of attention because she was different from the rest? Or can respect actually be earned through true personality, charisma and kindness? I don’t know all the answers, and I surely don’t pretend to. 

Everyone wants to belong, and everyone wants to fit in whether they admit it or not. It’s built into us like a survival instinct, as to join others you logically increase your chances of survival.

Rachel wasn’t even Rachel until I called her that and gave her a home. There are people out there that you’ll never meet if you don’t start the first conversation, or lend a helping hand. Sure, some connections are coincidences. Yet it’s in us to make a free-willed decision to take that chance. It’s quite possible I was acting on impulse when I bought that pile of plastic limbs. All the same, however, sometimes you have to trust your gut.

Now you might be dismissing this as a case that doesn’t apply to real life, but I would argue it does. Be yourself. Be weird. Be embarrassing and seek out discomfort in everyday life or else how will you be able to really grow? If you’re content all the time in your room, would you have ever frolicked with a Goodwill-sourced mannequin in the midst of a hundred college students while a band played on a porch? I think not.

Seek the adventure. Go outside. Touch grass. Alright that’s a little on the nose. 

It’s just I can’t shake the feeling that a lot of people do not understand that what other people think of you most of the time doesn’t matter or carry any actual weight? 

The worst thing that could happen is you might be judged. But Rachel, oh Rachel, there’s one thing about her. 

Rachel doesn’t judge.