Thumbelina and the Mistress

Thumbelina and the Mistress

Thumbelina gathered her friends and their minions for a tea party. Their mistress would be gone until evening, so they had all morning and afternoon to bask in communion over endless cups of freshly brewed infusion imported from their homelands. Although India, Taiwan, Madagascar, and Poland were buried in their DNA, the only visible traces of heredity were evident in their colorful wardrobes, gadgets, and cups and saucers placed just so in a magnificent china cabinet.

Their merrymaking included Boleslaw pottery from the mistress’s ancestral village in honor of her grandmother’s natal day. A portrait of her and the grand dame of the family sat above the china cabinet. Though decades apart, their uncanny resemblance was undeniable. The painter had captured their persona from his palette, using cerulean for the color of their eyes, and sepia as a reference for olive skin. The grandmother’s stern lips and the mistress’s mischievous smile accentuated their dissimilar identities.

Could Thumbelina and her companions recall their first encounter with the mistress? She was different then. More like the portrait. Shorter. More playful and available. Her sandy French braids whipping midair as she fashioned a magical world, constantly imposing sudden wardrobe changes, endlessly made-up games, secret talks into the night, and insisting on carting them just about everywhere—in town, to church, as hostages aboard strange flying machines and rail cars. But the mistress’s newfound activities had all but discarded their fun, and unfun, times together.

Thumbelina mostly missed the hours she spent as a supermodel—so many wardrobe changes. The mistress would prepare a hand-crafted display booth, imported from Japan, in a corner by the picture window, where fancy dresses in a variety of colors lived on matching cloth hangars. Shoes with kitten heels, chunky sandals, booties, and sneakers in gold, rose, and blue lined the floor of the booth, accompanied by matching designer knockoff bags, hats, and canopies to top things off. Glorious days!

Holiday parties and gatherings, though memorable and filled with nonstop activities, songs, and games, had taken a toll on Thumbelina and the gang. Her youthful complexion had faded, her shiny curls diminished to a dusty sheen, and the dresses that once made her a star now looked more like dirty dish rags. And her eyes, when blinking, seemed more grey than blue. Thumbelina reminisced about an unforgettable moment when the mistress insisted on taking her abroad. It was going to be a long flight, and though the bosses made their case, posing a scenario where Thumbelina could go missing, the mistress prevailed.

Thumbelina was an important member of the family. The mistress told everyone she met that she was no longer lonely, and she would introduce her beautiful sister, insisting they shake her hand and admire her pretty frock. At Christmastime, she made sure Thumbelina had a gift or two to open, and when company came for dinner, the mistress would set up a special seat next to her at the table, just for Thumbelina. But it wasn’t all roses. As the years rolled by, a foreshadowing began to trouble the mistress’s sister.

The first sign of infidelity hit her like an unsettling wave. Though the mistress had shot up that summer, her heart seemed distant and divided, and as she spent less and less time with Thumbelina, a feeling of abandonment began to creep in. Thumbelina spent most afternoons with the others, rocking in wicker chairs, or napping in billowy blankets, filling up their time with sorrow and a lack of motivation, even going so far as to wear the same outfits for days on end. She decided to go with the flow and hope for better days to return.

A light peeked through when, one night, after the clock struck into the next day, the mistress entered the room, sobbing and searching through blankets and clutter for Thumbelina. The reunion felt as though the two had never parted, and Thumbelina relished in the mistress’s all-night hugs and reassurances that she was not, after all, forgotten. This went on for days until the mistress announced that she had to get away for a spell. She told Thumbelina not to worry about her, that she would be all right, as long as Thumbelina promised to hold down the fort.

Days turned into years, and though the mistress treasured Thumbelina from time to time, Thumbelina longed for the old days, when she was the center of the mistress’s attention. Some of their regular friends had moved away by now, but the mistress made sure Thumbelina stayed sheltered and somewhat cared for. Her space had become more of a care center than a vibrant showroom. Thumbelina wondered where the others had gone, and she missed their companionship almost as much as she longed for more time with the mistress.

At least those left to commiserate could enjoy the sweet fellowship of an old-fashioned tea party, once shared with the mistress most days. As they sipped the delightful swill, memories of all the fanfare of yesteryear seemed to fill the atmosphere. All was not lost. The china cabinet still stood tall, jumbled with the finest tea cups and saucers imported from the homeland. In the mistress’s absence, the tea party went on until the wee hours. Then, long past her expectant arrival, the mistress entered the room where the festivities were still going on, and she gave the crew an approving smile. She sat on the floor for a while with Thumbelina and the gang, what was left of them, and slowly placed the cups and saucers back into the china cabinet. She squeezed Thumbelina and settled her in the rocking chair by her bed. Then, she got into her night clothes and settled in, a light flickering in the dark from a handheld device.

From her place in the rocking chair, Thumbelina watched the mistress with concern as the mistress frantically scrolled through screens on the tiny device, seemingly searching for new friends she couldn’t physically touch. Lately, the mistress seemed distracted with the idea of somehow recreating a lookalike Thumbelina on the tiny device “to preserve treasured memories and take her wherever she went.” This grave-like obsession made Thumbelina feel obsolete and a little scared. Was the mistress working on a eulogy?

Thumbelina recalled an equally unpleasant incident involving an overnight stay at a crummy gas station, where the mistress had forgotten her and two others in the lavatory, as the family rushed through an isolated town to arrive at an Airbnb for some much-needed rest and recreation. As the sun set in the remote desert stop, Thumbelina and her cohorts wondered if they’d ever see the light of day. Would someone shuffle them to a back alley and cut their heads off or steal their pretty clothes? Would they end up on a sojourner’s back trailer hitch as an eyesore?

But the next morning, before the sun came up, there she was, covered in terror, searching the facility with her bosses, waiting for the gas station to open so she could tear into the bathroom and redeem what she had absentmindedly left behind. The first thing the mistress said, upon finding her beloveds intact, echoed through the vast, otherwise empty and smelly alcove: “Thumbelina, are you real?”