Adventures in Sisterhood; Part Three

I inserted two fingers into the jar and scooped out a generous portion. It was cool and gelatinous and slightly lumpy. I inverted my palm and looked at it suspiciously as it hung suspended; viscous, but inert.

“Is that the right stuff?” asked Middle Sister dubiously.

“I don’t know, but we have to try something.” I said desperately.

Baby sister peered into the jar and sniffed experimentally.

“Mmmmmm.” she said.

“It’s not to eat Baby sister. It’s to put on your face to get the ickies off.”

“Face?” she inquired.

“Yes, your face. Let’s put it on your faaaaaace, okaaay??” crooned Middle Sister in a soothing, motherly manner.

“K!” she said agreeably.

Looking at each other dubiously over the top of her red-gold head, we began to apply the stuff to her face. We smeared it around in vigorous circles, they way we had seen my mother do it.

“Is it working?” asked Middle Sister. The hope in her voice was hard to ignore.

“I don’t know. I think so.”

And indeed, it did seem to dissolving the caked up mess on her face. The little bits of toilet paper were becoming unglued and the worst of the streaks were fading as we massaged her warm and pliant baby flesh. Her blue eyes creased into long lashed smiles as I scrubbed at the sinister looking smudges beneath them.

“Hold still Baby Sister, or I’ll get it in your eyes!” I said. I did not want those ear piercing shrieks to be called forth once again.

“Here, play with this.”

I handed her the jar and watched with satisfaction as she dug into the glop and began to splat it pat it between the starfishes of her baby hands.

Eventually, we managed to scrub of all of the make-up and set about removing the gooey substance from her face. It took a while, and we realized, with no small amount of apprehension, that the mixture had begun to harden. But a wet washcloth soon took care of that and in a few moments we were ready to stand back and scrutinize our work.

Baby Sister’s cheeks glowed a healthy pink from our ministrations, but otherwise, we could see no traces of the drunken and debauched middle aged woman that had confronted us a short time ago. Middle Sister moved closer and peered at her with intense concentration.

“I think there’s still some eyeliner on her eyes.” She said worriedly.

“Dad won’t notice that.” I said, sounding more confident than I felt.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She sighed heavily. “Okay then.”

She turned back to Baby Sister and chirped “All done Baby Sister!”

Baby sister merely blinked at us with owlish intensity. Then, she held up her clenched fists imploringly and said simply, “Stuck.”

We were confused for a moment. Middle Sister and I exchanged puzzled looks and then looked back at Baby Sisters interlocked hands. I saw the congealed sludge oozing from between her chubby fingers, coating her knuckles, and encircling her wrists. With something approaching horror, I realized what had happened.

“Oh. Shit.” I said.

“WHAT?” asked Middle Sister. Her voice was squeaky with panic.

“Her hands are stuck together. That stuff hardened and now her hands are stuck together.”

“Ohshit.” repeated Middle Sister. “This is bad. What’re we gonna DO?”

“I don’t know. Get the washcloth.”

We soaked the washcloth and tried in vain to wipe away the impossibly hard crust cementing her hands together. But the water didn’t even penetrate the surface, it simply beaded up and rolled off, leaving a small puddle on the floor in front of the toilet where Baby Sister sat.

“Oh my God. The water is useless.” I said with fatalistic certainty.

“This is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Very, very bad.” chanted Middle sister.

Now, I was well and truly panicked. I knew we needed some kind of solvent, but I had no idea what kind of thing we could use that would dissolve the petrified matter without stripping all the flesh from Baby Sister’s bones. I was good and scared.

Big Trouble seemed wholly, horribly, and disconcertingly unavoidable now.

Baby Sister was growing impatient. She pumped her conjoined fists up and down for emphasis and said again, “STUCK!”

She wasn’t upset. Yet. Suddenly I had an idea.

“I know, Baby Sister, let’s play a game!”

Her face lit up, and she would have clapped her hands with delight if she was able. Baby Sister loved games. And now, I, her big sister, her guardian and her hero, was going to exploit that love shamelessly to save my own skin.

“Yes, the game is Hide from Daddy.”

Her brow furrowed momentarily and her eyes clouded with doubt. This did not sound like a good game. I had to really sell it.

“Yes. Daddy loves to play this game” I said with authority. “See, you are the Princess, and an evil Warlock has cast a spell that has turned your hands to stone. Daddy is the Prince, and only his love can undo the spell and free you.”

“Fee me?”

The other thing Baby Sister loved was Princesses and Princes. I felt terribly ashamed, but I also felt the desperate to avoid the very real prospect of numerous curtailed freedoms. I soldiered on.

“Yes. But you can’t tell the Prince that a spell has been cast upon you. You must let the purity of true love guide his actions and only then will you be free.”

“Daddy wuv me.”

“Yes, he does. Daddy loves you very much! So, you must hide, and let Daddy, er…the Prince find you. Be very quiet, because if you summon the Warlock, he will kill the Prince, and you will be trapped forever.”

“Okay!” she said eagerly. She had fully embraced the spirit of the game and would now be suitably compliant.

I tapped my chin and gazed contemplatively into the distance, while Middle Sister stared at me with a mixture of awe and disgust.

“Now, leeeeeet’s see...what would be a good hiding place?”

“The bathtub!” exclaimed Middle Sister.

“Perfect!” I declared. “The Warlock will never think to look there! Quick Baby Sister, into the tub!”

“Okay!” she said with breathless excitement. “Huwy!”

We helped her clamber over the sides of the antique cast iron tub and drew the shower curtain shut. Baby Sister giggled. Middle Sister stuck her head in and reminded her one more time to be quiet. She held a finger to her lips and whispered, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Baby Sister nodded soberly and pressed her ruby lips together tightly.

Once Baby Sister was safely stowed and silenced, Middle Sister turned to me and inquired, “Now what?”

“We have to make it look like she did it herself.”

“I don’t know Big Sister, that’s really mean.”

“She won’t get in trouble. She’s just a baby and she doesn’t know any better.”

Still dubious, Middle Sister asked, “How?”

“Help me smear this stuff all over the bathroom.”

“WHAT? No way. What if she gets a spanking?”

Middle Sister was perilously close to tears and I sensed mutiny. I couldn’t lose her now, or we would lose all hope of our plan succeeding.

“Look, if it looks like she’s going to get spanked, we’ll confess everything. But if not, then we’ll just keep our mouths shut and everything will be okay. Do you want to be grounded??” I demanded.

“No.” she said morosely.

“Alright then, help me!”

Together we began troweling the sweet smelling mask all over the bathroom. I was especially proud of the smeary hand print I left on the wall by the towel rack, and the wadded up hand towel I tossed into the sink.

At last our work was done. After exhorting Baby Sister one more time to be silent, we left the bathroom and went downstairs to wait.