October Flash Fiction #3 - Smaller Than Remembered

“Well, I should like to be a little larger sir, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Alice:  “three inches is such a wretched height to be.” Alice in Wonderland, Chapter 5

Carol remembered when Grandma and Grandpa had given her the doll house.  It was the Christmas before she turned seven.  Daddy and Grandpa had to carry it together because it was so large and the red roof got dusted with snow as they squeaked down the driveway with it.  Mother stood in the doorway until Grandpa pointed out that they needed her to move aside so they could get the dollhouse inside.  She sniffed and told them to wipe their feet.  That was ominous, but Carol let her heart swell a little anyway because the doll house was so beautiful.

Grandpa had built it, painted it white with forest green trim and shutters, the roof shingled with red-painted sandpaper cut in scallops, the window boxes filled with tiny red roses.  Grandma furnished it, cutting wall-to-wall carpet from washcloths, selecting a curvy old-fashioned sofa and a pink crib, making sure there was a tiny black Scottie dog to play with the doll children.

“It’s too large to go in Carol’s room,” Mother said.  “It will have to go in the basement.”

Grandma and Grandpa exchanged a glance, but Daddy shrugged.  Negotiating the corners through the kitchen and laundry was not easy, but Daddy only grunted once when he banged his elbow on a doorframe.

“You spoil her,” Mother said.

Grandpa replied, “That’s what grandparents do.” He hugged Carol close.  “Now we need to bring in the rest of the gifts.”

Mother kept Carol and Christopher upstairs all day, despite the doll house and the train set waiting for them in the basement.  After Daddy had given Mother the mink coat and the adults had had just a little more spiked egg nog and Grandma and Grandpa had bundled themselves into the big black car, Mother closed the front door.  “And what did you give your secretary?” she asked Daddy.  “Diamonds?”

“Laura,” Daddy said.  “You know I didn’t.”

Carol and Christopher, as one, edged toward the basement stairs.  Christopher clattered track together while Carol opened the back of the doll house.  As the voices rose upstairs, she imagined herself small enough to join the doll family around their own Christmas tree with its delicate flocked branches and tiny ornaments.  The tree towered over the doll people.

Holding the doll daughter, seventy some years later, Carol realized that she closer to two inches than three inches tall, much smaller than she remembered and yet bigger than she felt.