My Tiny Companion

“Feed meeee.”

“Shut up, Mabel.”


“Oh, Jesus Christ. Shut up, Mabel!”

“How long can you ignore my cries of hunger, Jenna?”

“Mabel, you are two inches tall and ate an entire strawberry fifteen minutes ago. There is no way you are hungry already.”

Jenna Longo is sitting at her desk, hacking away at her paper on the terrible play the theater department put on last night She has been stuck in this same position for the last four hours, only taking breaks to pee, eat, and fulfill the requests of Mabel—the two inch tall 60 year old woman with poofy gray hair and a white and black striped dress that hung just below the knee.

Jenna takes second to survey herself in her wall mirror. Her dark brown skin prevents others from noticing the bags under her eyes, but she can see them clearly. Slipping off her glasses and placing them on her desk, she rubs her eyes and stretches her neck out, giving it a good roll to try to work out the kinks that have set in. She rereads the last line she has written, picking the curls in her ponytail—a habit she’s had since childhood. With a huff she deletes a paragraph and pulls out her notes.

She notices Mabel staring at her from her place on the front porch of an olive green dollhouse, but trains her focus back on the task at hand.

Mabel stalks over to Jenna from her place in the dollhouse that serves as her full time home. Stopping just short of the keyboard where Jenna’s hands furiously type, Mabel stares at her sternly with her hands on her hips. The curly college student refuses to acknowledge her tiny friend and continues to type.

With a dramatic sigh, Mabel makes her way over to the keyboard, hopping over Jenna’s wrist and plopping down in front of the spacebar.

“I demand sustenance,” Mabel declared.

“You know I can just move you, right?” Jenna answered back. She lifted her hand to grab the back of Mabel’s dress.

“If you grab me, I will pee on this keyboard,” Mabel cautioned.

“You wouldn’t,” Jenna challenged.

Mabel narrowed her eyes behind her tortoiseshell glasses.

“I think you know that’s a lie,” Mabel shot back.

“UGH! Fine,” Jenna acquiesced, “What do you want to eat?”

Mabel lays down leisurely on her side, propping her head up on her elbow.

“Well, what do you have, sweetheart?” she croaks.

“Just say pizza rolls,” Jenna said throwing up her hands and sliding her chair back.

“It’s always pizza rolls,” she mumbles as she walked toward her mini fridge.

As she pulls out the plastic pouch filled with the frozen squares, she can hear her computer volume go up. The dance music she had been playing as background noise now fills the room. She bops to the beat as she sticks the pizza rolls into the microwave and sets the time. When she turns around, she sees Mabel on her desktop dancing with the mini mannequin Jenna bought for her intro to drawing class last semester.

Jenna watches Mabel for a second or two before the older woman notices her audience. Instead of being embarrassed, she lets the mannequin drop and turns to Jenna, slips into the first moves of the Macarena, and is clearly indicating Jenna should join in. With a sigh, Jenna joins in and has completed at least 5 rounds of Macarena before realizing its getting really late, and she has in a few hours.

She slumps back into her chair and begins rereading what’s she’s already written. Mabel starts slides over, drapes herself over Jenna’s arm, and started to recreate the beat of the song they had been dancing too.

“Are you going to let me finish the shit ton of homework I have to do?” Jenna asked.

“Language!” Mabel reprimanded, “And only if you get me out of this room tomorrow. I’m getting cabin fever, or Stockholm syndrome, or something else that sounds like a horror movie title.”

“I’ll take you out with me tomorrow,” Jenna says, “ Promise. I have a ton of errands to run and we can grab anything you need too.”

“Deal,” agrees Mabel.

With that she head back into her dollhouse, closing the front door gently  behind her.


***TO BE CONTINUED…at some point

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