Dora Grows Up

Dora grows up and has depression problems because she grew up with everyone watching and now no one pays attention to her


Sitting on the couch in dirty pajamas, watching Dr. Phil re-runs, wishing someone could explain why they left her behind. She reaches into the crinkled bag of potato chips, her dirty fingernails digging into the crumbs at the bottom of the bag, embedding salt under them. She pushes the crumbs into her mouth and sucks on her fingers, eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.
Her eyes glaze over, becoming as unfocused as her thoughts. She remembers when the fans would wait outside the studio, hoping for an autograph, a touch, a smile...even just a quick glimpse. They loved her. The children...even some of their parents. They didn’t just watch her show; they participated in her adventures. Her favorite part was always the meet-and-greets. Nothing compared with the feeling she got from seeing the joy in a little one’s eyes when they saw her.
The only ones waiting for her now are bill collectors and the landlord, once a month.
She sticks her hand back in the chip bag, scrounges around, and finds that the bag is truly empty. ‘Metaphor for my life,’ she thinks, tossing the bag on the floor. It flutters down, surprising a lone cockroach into action. It skitters under the couch. She almost envies it. At least it has somewhere to go.
The doorbell rings, forcing her to wake herself from her somnorific state. She lazily looks toward the door, hoping, yet afraid to put her heart into it. After all, it’s probably just the landlord or something. Not a visitor. The mud-streaked windows and torn screens make it hard for her to see outside. She sighs, scratches her head through the tangles in her untamed hair, unfolds her legs from underneath her, and drags herself to the door. Before she can get there, the bell sounds again. It does nothing but aggravate her. Reaching the door, she starts to look through the peephole, then decides there is really no point. No matter who it is, it can’t be worse than Dr. Phil and the TV. She slides the chain, turns the lock, and pulls the door open halfway.
“Yeah?” The guy on her porch is somehow familiar, but her depressive stupor gets in her way and she can’t place him. When he speaks, the fog slowly lifts as recognition dawns.
“Dora? You’re Dora, right? I found you!”
Who is this guy? A random retro-groupie? Wait! No… Yes? “Chuckie? Chuckie Finster?” The straggly red hair should have been a big clue. Geez! She used to be good at clues. What happened to her? “You were looking for...me?” Somehow, she just can’t quite believe anyone was looking for her, let alone a former child star like Chuckie. He used to be big stuff, back in his Rugrats days.
“Can I come in?” Chuckie is still the same, rumpled, with that hairdo and the goofy grin. But he is clean, and she can’t see him coming into her hot mess of a house.
“How about if I come out? Gimme a minute.” She steps back, closes the door, and hurries across the room to find a robe, a clean shirt...something. First thing she finds is a Panic at the Disco hoodie. She yanks it on over her head, while trying to find a pair of pants. Sweatpants. Better than nothing. Pulling them up with one hand, she scrabbles around on her dresser, looking for a brush to yank the tangles out of her hair. Two minutes later, she squeezes out through the door, closing it tight behind her, hoping he can’t see into her rats’ nest of a house.
They sit on the steps, both of them nervous, her not knowing what to expect, him not sure what to say…
“So…” begins Dora, her hands tucked into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. “You were looking for me?”
“Oh! Yeah! I guess I was so happy I found you I lost track of why I was looking. I need your help.” Chuckie turned towards Dora, his eyes searching hers earnestly, hoping he will find that she is willing to help. She looks back, her bloodshot eyes anything but positive. She shakes her head.
“I am no help to anyone. I can’t even help myself.” She lowers her head, unwilling to let him see the tears in her eyes as they threaten to escape.
He uses two fingers to raise her chin, forcing her to look up. “You can help me. I believe in you.” Schmaltzy or not, his words touched her heart, helping it to melt...just a little. She began to feel that maybe, just maybe, she could help someone again. She drew her breath in slowly.
“Okay.” She squared her shoulders, mentally bracing herself. “What do you need me to do?”



The ground is littered with leaves, colored in russets and golds. Dora and Chuckie hardly even notice. They shuffle through, absorbed in their discussion. They pay no attention to the college coeds rushing past them or the stately buildings of the university whose grounds they are wandering.
“It’s been six months since I’ve heard from her. We were close. She never would have left me without a word. Even if she left, she would have found a way to tell me.” Chuckie jammed his fists in the pockets of his jacket, feeling frustrated and angry.
“So Sandy just disappeared? Have your checked her dome?” Dora peeked at Chuckie, still not confident in her ability to help. She wanted to help. Really. But…
“Of course I did,” he snapped. He stopped, drew in a breath, and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m just…”
Dora put her hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him. “I know. I just don’t know what to say. I’m trying to think of anything I can to help.”
“I appreciate it. The police haven’t been much help at all. They say she is an adult and she probably just left on her own, even though she left everything behind, didn’t cancel the utilities, and “forgot” to tell anyone. They are clueless.”
“Where do you want to start? I’ll help however I can.”
“Let’s talk to her professor. Maybe he can give us a clue.”



The two walked briskly to the science building. They checked in with the secretary, who told them that Professor Mandark would be with them shortly. They waited uncomfortably on the hard plastic chairs of the waiting room, shifting their weight and whispering to each other about what information they thought they would get from him. Finally, a tall, dark man with a lab coat and an oddly-lightbulb-shaped head came into the room. He approached the secretary grumpily, asking, “Somebody here for me?” She nodded in their direction without looking up from her laptop.
Before they could even stand, he was in front of them, hands on hips. “Well?”
Chuckie cleared his throat, nervous now that he was face to face. “Sir, we are here about Sandy Cheeks. Perhaps we could talk in your office?”
Professor Mandark stood without speaking, his eyes narrowing as he looked Dora and Chuckie up and down. “Very well.” He turned and retreated down a long, brightly lit hallway. Dora and Chuckie looked at each other, then rushed to their feet and followed in his wake.