Little Mazzy

As Rose prepared herself in the marble bathroom, Little Mazzy sat on the rim of the oversized Jacuzzi. Rose’s daughter had Eskimo eyes and cropped jet-black hair. She was a very tiny little girl, and her mother’s bathroom was like a palace. The bright lights and mirrors, the plants hanging from high places, the powders and perfumes pumped into the air, produced a fairy-tale-like effect in the child’s mind. She loved to sit and watch her mother try on different outfits, and fuss in her grown-up way over which necklace to wear with which dress. Once Rose had even shown her daughter how to use a lip-liner and an eyebrow pencil.

To the little girl, the enormous closet in Rose’s bathroom was forbidden world. Her mother told her never to go inside because the dresses were so expensive and she didn’t want them to get damaged. But the shiny fabrics and hundreds of pairs of shoes called out to Little Mazzy during the day, especially when her mother was painting, tempting the little girl to sneak into her mother’s closet and stuff herself in between the garments. She inhaled the heady perfumes clinging to the wardrobe in the dark.

Little Mazzy helps out

Though she tried to hold back her anger toward her mother, Little Mazzy had an explosive little temperament and a shrill little voice. She relied on her mother to let her go out with her friends, and when Rose refused, Mazzy threw tantrums.

Mazzy’s violent outbursts were starkly contrasted by genuine acts of kindness. For example, on Saturday mornings, she brought an apple to her mother and sat by her side. As they watched television together, Little Mazzy massaged her mother’s neck and rubbed her swollen feet. Mazzy carried some of her mother’s traits, especially the lighter, playful qualities. She stuck her finger up her nose, pretending to be mentally retarded, or hung her hair over her face like It from the Munster Family, and the two of them dissolved into a stream of bubbling laughter. In a certain mood, Rose could laugh hysterically at almost anything. She was quite susceptible to laughter and foolishness.

Because of the Doctor’s difficulties with taking care of his wife, Little Mazzy offered to sleep in her mother’s room one night a week. She didn’t mind sleeping in her mother’s bed. It reminded her of when she was younger and used to sneak into her parent’s bedroom, crawling in between them in the middle of the night. The silk sheets would get tangled between her legs and the vastness of the queen-sized bed engulfed her as if she were a little sea-horse floating on the surface of the ocean. Before falling asleep, she peeked over the pillows to the large round mound of her mother’s body. Her mother had to be put into a special position before she went to bed. This position was sort of like a cow lying helpless on its side because she couldn’t move until someone lifted her up. At some point during the middle of the night, Rose let out a squeal of discomfort. This meant that she wished to be turned over in bed. Rose might have to squeal and sigh for two or three minutes before Mazzy opened her eyes. Then Mazzy walked around to the other side of the bed, stood on the side beams (because she was so short) and pulled her mother to the left or pushed her to the right. Sometimes her mother needed the position of her legs rearranged. Sometimes she needed to go to the bathroom.

If her mother needed to go to the bathroom, Mazzy guided her into the little chamber and closed the door. Within ten seconds, Mazzy fell back asleep on the hard marble tiles. She re-entered her dreams from inside her mother’s cold, dark bathroom, and soon found herself chasing after a boy she liked. Then her mother would rouse her from her dreams and Mazzy would mumble incoherently, realizing that she was still on the floor of her mother’s bathroom. Standing up, only half-awake, Mazzy led her mother over to the sink to wash her hands.

Little Mazzy surrounds herself with friends

The sheer volume of phone calls that came to the Bashar house was unsettling. Little Mazzy’s growing popularity worried the Doctor because he wanted his daughter to be more like her brother, “the golden child”. He wanted her to focus on her studies and to think about college. It was only four years away.

Mazzy’s family was often a source of painful humiliation. Her friends might find out what they were like. What kind of house of weirdoes. She never wanted anyone to know that her mother was sick. That’s why she always ran to pick up the phone before anyone else did. She could still remember that one time her mother managed to pick up the phone before her. A couple days later, a friend asked her if her grandmother had Alzheimer’s.

There were papers from school that her mother had to sign. But Rose’s signature looked like the scribble of a four year old. And when Mazzy’s friends all decided to skip the period after lunch and have their mothers call them out, Mazzy couldn’t because the secretary in the Dean’s office was never able to understand her mother’s voice. It seemed unfair that her mother was sick. She was jealous of her friends because they had mothers who were healthy and young and attractive, and who could take their daughters shopping or play tennis with them. She liked to go over to friends’ houses just to be around their families. It seemed like all the other families were normal. But hers was not.

She surrounded herself with tons of friends. Most of Mazzy’s friends were drama queens; a swirling commotion followed her everywhere. Their peppy, high-pitched voices and shrill laughter distracted her enormously. She forgot about her family when she was out with her friends. She felt most comfortable in extremely large crowds.

Her father was “insane”. Everyone knew that. If the phone rang after ten o’clock, her father told her friends not to call this late. If she was already on the phone and it had just turned ten o’clock, he picked up the receiver and said in an icy tone, “It’s time for you to go to bed now, Mazzy.” This was so annoying because usually there was this one boy on the other line who she really liked. If she talked on the phone for an extra minute, her father was likely to burst into the room screaming.

The weekends were even worse. She felt like he was holding her hostage. If there was a party she wanted to go to, he wouldn’t let her go until he talked to the parents. But everyone knows that when there’s a party, the parents are never home.

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