Mary Jane, Jessica Blau [diy ebook reader TXT] 📗

shaky, but everyone was looking at me so kindly, I knew there couldn’t be a wrong answer. “I trust Dr.Cone. But, also, I just think it’s strange that marijuana is called Mary Jane. My name.”

Everyone laughed and my head went floaty and loose with feelings of foolishness. But foolish moments like this seemed worththe thrill and unexpected intimacy of being in on things with the adults.

After dinner, Mrs. Cone took Jimmy into the TV room, where there was a big, fluffy shag carpet. She wanted to show him a meditationtechnique she’d learned in California at a place called Esalen. I started to clear the table, but Dr. Cone said he’d clearand do the dishes if I’d put Izzy to bed.

Izzy climbed up onto my lap like a giant cat. She was sleepy and soft. And a little bit smelly. “Do you mind if I give hera bath first?”

“No, no, please do. That would be lovely.”

“I’ll go with you.” Sheba put her hand on my elbow and helped me stand. Izzy clung to me, her legs wrapped around my back.The three of us walked up the stairs together, Sheba humming the midget song.

In the bathroom, I put Izzy down on the floor, then turned on the faucet. Sheba sat on the closed toilet and started singing.“Midgets, they’re like you and me. Some go to church, some spend Sunday free. . . .” The bathroom had a black-and-white tiled floor and black-and-white wallpaper of swirling 3-D balls. Sometimes they looked convex and sometimes they looked concave and I was never sure if I was looking at the balls or at the space between the balls, which also looked like balls. If I moved my head around too fast, I felt a little dizzy.

While the water was running, I removed Izzy’s clothes and put them in the black wicker hamper. I suddenly realized I was singingalong with Sheba, harmonizing. She sang a little louder, and so did I, and our voices echoed and reverberated through thebathroom. “Your doctor might be a midget too. Of course there are plenty of midget Jews. You know they buy teeny, tiny midget shoes. And the Black ones sing the midget blues. . . .”

Once the bath was ready, I picked up Izzy and placed her in. She splashed around, playing with the bucket of foam alphabetletters. When she stopped moving so much, I poured a palmful of Johnson’s baby shampoo into my hands and washed her hair.

Sheba sang, “I’m gonna wash that man right outa my hair . . .”

I joined in. I knew the song from South Pacific, which was one of my favorite albums from the Show Tunes of the Month Club.

Izzy tilted her head back so the foam wouldn’t get in her eyes, and tried to sing along with us.

I pulled Izzy’s foamy shampoo hair into a horn on her head. “Look, you’re a unicorn.”

Izzy shook her head back and forth. “Do I look real? Like a real live unicorn?”

“Yup.”

“I’ve really been wanting a baby,” Sheba said.

I turned the unicorn horn into two horns that curled. “Now you’re a ram.” To Sheba I said, “Will you have one?”

“What’s a ram?” Izzy asked.

“A big male goat.” I thought of Dr. Cone and his sideburns. He would look perfectly natural with forceful curved horns.

“If Jimmy stays sober for five years, I’ll have a baby,” Sheba said. “You can’t have a baby with an addict.”

“Can witches have babies?” Izzy asked.

“Yes, but it’s mostly the good witches who do,” I said.

“Who are the mamas of bad witches?”

“Shut your eyes.” I laid a washcloth over Izzy’s eyes. She leaned her head back. I filled a dented saucepan that was lyingnext to the tub and dumped the water over Izzy’s head to rinse out the shampoo.

“I bet good witches are the mamas of bad witches,” Sheba said. “And even though they’re good mamas, their babies just turnbad.”

I filled the saucepan again and did a second rinse.

Izzy removed the washcloth and set it on her head like a scarf. “Mary Jane says the witch in this house is a good witch andthat she gives us makarino cherries.”

“Maraschino,” I said.

“How do you like that?” Sheba said. “You’ve got a witch who leaves maraschino cherries.”

I took the washcloth from Izzy’s head, soaped it up, and then handed it to her. “Stand and wash your private parts.”

Izzy stood and dug the washcloth into her butt and then her vagina, scrubbing back and forth with a crinkled little concentratingface. She sat and rinsed herself.

“My mom is a bad witch,” Sheba said.

“Really?” Izzy and I both looked at Sheba.

“God, yes. An awful witchy, witchy woman. She only loves my brothers.”

I wanted to ask questions but wasn’t sure if that was allowed. Instead I grabbed a towel and held it open for Izzy. Izzy stepped out of the tub and into the towel. “Why does she love your brothers?” Izzy asked, like she was reading my mind.

“She’s an old-fashioned witch who thinks boys are good and should get all the money and all the attention and girls are bad.Especially girls who like to kiss boys.”

“Do you like to kiss boys?”

I tucked the towel up at Izzy’s neck so she was wrapped like a burrito. I wanted to run and get her clean pajamas but didn’twant to miss Sheba’s answer.

“Yes. Especially Jimmy. I love to kiss Jimmy!” Sheba laughed, leaned over, and pulled the Izzy burrito into her arms. I wentto get Izzy’s pajamas.

When I came back, Sheba was singing “There Is Nothin’ Like a Dame” to Izzy. I sang along while I unwrapped the towel and put Izzy in her pajamas. She peed and brushed her teeth and then I pickedher up and the three of us marched into her bedroom, which was still clean, as Izzy and I spent a little time each day straighteningit.

I tucked Izzy under the covers and then sorted through the stack of books we had laid by the bed.

“Madeline!” Izzy said. I dug out Madeline.

“I want to hear too.” Sheba climbed onto the bed and lay on Izzy’s