Mama’s Little Baby came into Mary’s life on Christmas morning, 1936. The doll’s name was really Jenny, but nine year-old Mary took to calling her Mama’s Little Baby right off the bat, and the name stuck.
The doll had flawless, pink plastic skin, red hair and bright, blue eyes with thick lashes that opened and closed depending on whether the doll was upright or lying down. Mama’s Little Baby wasn’t a talking doll, but that didn’t keep Mary from providing a voice for her.
Mary and Mama’s Little Baby were inseparable. Mary took the doll wherever she went; to the store, to church and of course, to bed. Mary’s mother made a dress and a bonnet for the doll, which Mary proclaimed in a squeaky voice to be very much to the liking of Mama’s Little Baby.
Mary and Mama’s Little Baby had four wonderful years together before Mary decided she was too old to play with dolls. Mama’s Little Baby sat in the corner of Mary’s room for another two years until Mary started high school. Mary’s mother took Mama’s Little Baby up into the attic. The doll’s eyes closed as Mary’s mother lay her in the corner. Mary never asked what had happened to the doll.
The years in the attic were not kind to Mama’s Little Baby. The changing seasons took their toll. The doll’s body expanded and contracted with the heat and cold, and a network of think cracks appeared in her skin. A layer of dust settled on her once perfect face. But Mama’s Little Baby hardly noticed. She was glad to at least be near Mary; nothing else mattered.
Thanks to that special bond that only a girl and her doll can have (except for maybe a boy and his dog), Mama’s Little Baby was able to watch Mary as she grew up. She was proud of her mama when she walked across the stage to get her high school diploma. She blushed when Jimmy kissed Mary on the front porch, and wished she could’ve been a bridesmaid at Mary and Jimmy’s wedding. She did the special breathing along with Mary as Mary delivered her daughter. Mama’s Little Baby was a bit jealous of tiny Ruth Anne at first, but then she began to hope that maybe Mary would bring her down from the attic and give her to Ruth Anne to play with. As the years went by, Mama’s Little Baby’s hopes of leaving the attic faded as Ruth Anne went from day care to elementary school, then junior high, then high school and college.
The thin cracks in Mama’s Little Baby’s skin grew more pronounced as the years went by. The edges began to curl outward and whole pieces of her plastic skin fell off, exposing the hard foam base underneath. The dress and bonnet Mary’s mother had made for her yellowed and became brittle. Her bright red hair faded. Mama’s Little Baby’s love for Mary never faded, though. She didn’t like living in the attic, but as long as she was close to Mary her banishment was bearable.
Mama’s Little Baby felt Mary’s pain and loss when Mary’s husband Jimmy died. Mary was left alone in the big house with nothing but the television to keep her company. Mama’s Little Baby wished she could call out to Mary, to remind her that she was up in the attic, and that she’d be glad to come down and keep her company. But Mary’s thoughts never turned to Mama’s Little Baby.
Mary’s daughter Ruth Anne and son-in-law Don lived just down the street, but they only came to visit Mary when they had to. Mama’s Little Baby could tell that they resented having to drive Mary into town to go shopping, and to church, and to her doctor’s appointments. Mama’s Little Baby also knew that Don and Ruth Anne were thinking about putting Mary “out of our misery” by sending her to a nursing home. The thought of being separated from Mary terrified Mama’s Little Baby. She decided she couldn’t let that happen.
Dust sifted to the attic floor as Mama’s Little Baby sat up for the first time in sixty years. Pieces of her plastic skin flaked off, and her joints creaked. Eyes that had been closed all these years snapped open. The blue in those eyes blazed in the dim light of the attic. Because of the cracks in her face it was impossible to tell whether Mama’s Little Baby was smiling or snarling as she stood up and turned toward the attic door.
Ruth Anne and Don came to Mary’s house in the morning to take Mary to the nursing home. They found Mary dead in her bed. The doctor said she died of a heart attack. No one knew where the nasty-looking doll Mary was holding tightly in one arm came from, but since Mary seemed so attached to it they decided to bury her with it.
After the services at the funeral home, the undertaker prepared Mary’s casket for burial. Later he would tell people about how it seemed like that ugly doll winked at him as he closed the casket lid.
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© 2009 Robert C. Eccles
Tags: Robert C. Eccles
May 10th, 2009 at 6:27 am
I usually need dialog to hold my attention, but there’s somethng about the flow of this one that pulled me in. Really got into my head. He just keeps getting better.
May 10th, 2009 at 10:00 am
As Joshua mentioned, I too was really pulled into the story. Very visual and descriptive. I was rooting for the doll to be retrieved from the attic. The final line was great.
May 10th, 2009 at 10:20 am
Great story for a hallmark holiday.
May 10th, 2009 at 11:49 am
Why do I have the feeling that doll probably found her way out of the casket later?
May 11th, 2009 at 11:09 am
Great stuff, Bob. I agree with Joshua. Your stories keep getting better.
May 11th, 2009 at 5:37 pm
Thank you all very much for your kind words!
May 12th, 2009 at 6:11 am
Cool story, Bob. That’s one devoted doll. I mourn her passing. Although, I agree with Lori…she may in fact rise again.