Brightleaf (4 page)

8

The Mind of Mavis

My whole name is Billy Mavis Turnkey. Named after my daddy, Billy Mabry. My mama never would agree to marry Billy Mabry, but she sure was crazy about him. She said that just knowin he was willin to get hitched was enough for her, but she didn’t never want to marry a man who had regular standing jail time from March to June. Daddy’s Spring Fever is what Mama called it. Anyway, Mama always called me Billy May, but all the children in town called me Turkey. Gobble gobble. When I left home at fifteen to run off with Cleavon, I started going by Mavis and kept the Turnkey part.

The Goodwill had a book called
The Poodle Almanac,
and I bought it for three dollars. It tells me near everythang a girl could hope to know about a poodle. What all and what not to feed it. (Never, ever feed a poodle onions or chocolate.) I also learnt poodles is famous at fetchin stuff. I’m teachin Floyd here how to fetch. And I’m pretty much in charge of his groomin, seein that he don’t get the mange, and makin sure his roots is touched up. If that evil pervert wasn’t lookin for him, I’d let his dye job grow out. Don’t get me wrong, blue on a dog is purty, but too much beauty can be a dangerous thang.

I should know. You may think I got it happenin now, but you shoulda seen me in my younger days. I was the belle of the bar. I seen good times and bad, like most ever’one my age. I know what it is to lose a child. When my Orin was born, I looked into his soft lil face and told him he’d be nothin like his daddy, that damn fool Cleavon, who liked to fight and start fires.

When I first took up with Cleavon, it was love at first sight, only I didn’t realize he wasn’t too bright in the head, and come to find out he had the IQ of a worm, for real. That’s what that doctor told me after it was all said and done. By “said and done” what I mean is this: Orin was the spittin image of his daddy in every way, so handsome, but a pyromaniac from birth…and the boy didn’t live no longer than eight years. One of the few days his idiot of a daddy was supposed to be watchin him, the shrimp got into the matches and burnt down the trailer with his own self in it. How could I have stopped it? By not being so fool to think he’d be safe with Cleavon. The sadness at losin that boy was almost too much to bear, and I blame nobody but myself. But I have to believe he’s in a better place now, livin the life of an angel, far away from Cleavon, who’s in Hell.

There’s no replacin a lost child, but you can always have other children to love on, which I never did do. Floyd is like a son to me now.

Me and Mary Beth is here at the G.P. We gotta get some of this food home and into the deep freeze before it melts, so we’re speed-loadin the conveyor belt at the checkout. Frozen sausage links. Frozen fried chicken. Frozen corn. Frozen lasagna. Beep, beep, beep. Jumbo tea bags. Beep. Super-sized can of coffee. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep.

“Well, babe, looks like the last of ‘em. Go on now and pick up your magazine. I got it under control,” I says.

Mary Beth don’t ever want to pay to read her magazine, seein she can cut to the article she’s most innerested in pretty fast and be finished by the time the food is bagged. Right now, she done found a story about movie stars who wear the same dress to the same party. For some reason that ain’t cool in Hollywood, but if I met someone with the same outfit on as me, Lord, I would love that. While I’m waitin for the cashier to finish ringin us up and baggin our stuff, I cross my arms and hold up my boobs.

“Ah!” says a voice real close. “ I can see you are a no-nonsense type, who doesn’t follow trends. I can also tell that you are a person open to new ideas and experiences. A refreshing trait, indeed.”

I turn around, and there’s a man with a teeny mustache and tinier lips. Cute as a caterpillar. His eyes is nice and wide apart, a sign his mama and daddy ain’t brother and sister. Even though one of his eyes drifts, I know he’s talkin to me cuz his good eye is fixed.

Lord, he just read my mail. I’m shocked a stranger could figure that stuff out about me. So I says, “Do you have ESP or somethin?”

Mary Beth sets down her
People
and looks at him. She says, “Mavis, why should he have ESP?”

“Well, I want to know,” I says. “You ain’t that psychic who used to come on Oprah?” Law, I hope he is. Cuz I would love to have me a tarot card read or hear about all my different lives. I coulda been a damsel in distress or a grave robber. A princess would be easy, but I hear grave robbin is hard work. Either way I’d get me some good jewelry.

“No, my dear,” says that man. “I have never met Oprah, although it would be a grand privilege. I’ll have you know that I’m not reading your mind, but I cannot help but have the pleasure of reading your groceries.”

“I hope that ain’t like palm readin,” I says. “Cuz Mary Beth says that’s of the devil. Right, MB?” I glance over at Mary Beth.

“That’s right. We don’t believe in that.”

The little wanderin eye lands on Mary Beth while the regular eye looks at me.

“I assure you, I’m no clairvoyant. I have only been gifted with the uncanny knack of understanding certain things about a person based upon their groceries and sundries. Even things they themselves may not be aware of. Not excluding how long a person will live.”

“Well, don’t be readin mine that way,” I says. “I don’t want to know when I’m gonna die. I want it to be a surprise.”

I look over at Mary Beth, who is lookin at this man, tryin to decide what to make of him. But I’ve made up my mind. He’s gifted is all. How else would he know I don’t follow styles?

Mary Beth says, “You’re not from Brightleaf are you?”

“Doyle Stubb at your service,” he says, holdin out his hand for a shake.

I gotta say he has the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen on a man. Such pale, smooth skin, like a baby’s, and fangernails so shiny and trimmed, you’d think he spends his days sortin through feathers and cotton balls. And believe me when I say I’ve seen fangernails on a man that would scare the shit out of Dracula.

Doyle says, “I recently moved to Brightleaf from Phoenix, Arizona. My mother is quite ill in The Peaceful Future Nursing Home.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mama,” I says. “Phoenix, Arizona? Ain’t that all hot and cactusy?”

“My dear,” says Doyle, “Arizona has a most pleasant climate. Though it can be hot, it is quite arid, which is marvelous.”

Right away, I know this is a good man. He came clear across the country to be with his mama. So I says to Doyle, “Doyle, you got a place to stay? Cuz Mary Beth here owns a boardin house, and we could use an extra man about.” I look at Mary Beth and nod to her like we have twin minds and she’d agree to it, but her lips get real tight, and she’s givin me the look that says she don’t want me goin around offering no psychics a place to stay.

Mary Beth says, “Well, Mr. Stubbs…”

“Stubb…it’s Stubb. And please, call me Doyle.”

“Okay, Doyle,” says Mary Beth. “Seeing I’ve only just met you, I can’t say I feel comfortable renting to you just yet. But I would love for you to come by the house for a cup of coffee or join us on Wednesday night for Share Group.”

“I thank you kind ladies very much for showing concern for my well-being,” says Doyle. “But I already have a nice cottage not far from here. The invitation for coffee and whatnot is equally appealing. You shall see me soon,” says Doyle as he runs his finger over his mustache, and looks real hard at those bagged groceries in our cart.

Mary Beth

I felt like throwing a blanket over our groceries. I did not want him looking at them that way. It seemed almost like he could see through our clothes. Figure out all the combinations on our locks, our social security numbers, and even the secrets we keep from our own selves. Anyway how hard can it be to estimate how long someone will live by looking in his shopping cart? If someone has a buggy packed with beer and Twinkies it’s no mystery they probably won’t make it to one hundred. You don’t have to be magic to know that.

9

Manchild

Mavis

Manchild shows up at the house every day but Wednesdays—to dodge the sharin time. I told him I don’t want him comin around ever. He’s crazy about me, but ever since Cleavon’s been long dead I don’t wanna be worryin about no man. Sure, I have men friends that I shoot the breeze with here and there, have a smoke with and all. I don’t mind me some attention. So when I seen Manchild giving me the sly wink, I says, “Hey baby, ain’t you cute?” I wasn’t thinkin of being his girlfriend or nothin, just friendly flirtin is all. He’s twenty-seven, so I’m old enough to be his gramaw.

That Manchild is hard to shake, though. Followin me from in front when I walk down the street to the Goodwill. Walkin backward, makin a fool of hisself, laughin like he’s so funny, but his eyes is sad. Some people always look sad, even when they ain’t. For some reason, he reminds me of my own little Orin. But his missin teeth tell me he don’t like to brush. Orin brushed.

I’m missin teeth myself, on the bottom. I’ll be the first to say, but mine are gone cuz my mama got me dippin at a early age, to get me to calm down when I was fussy. I took up smokin at the age of twelve cuz it’s a lot easier to look glamorous for the boys smokin a cigarette instead of dippin snuff and lookin like you been chewin on cat turds all day.

I might not be college educated like Mary Beth, but I’ve been around the block a few times, and I can tell that Manchild is bad news. I ain’t sure what all kinds of drugs he’s on, but he is on disability. I already had me a taste of that disability sugar with Cleavon. He was always gettin jobs on the sly and hidin it from the government, so he could keep two checks. Anyway, Mary Beth says her grandma told her that a man is like a Bible prophecy: Sweet in the mouth, but bitter in the belly. I ain’t sure exactly what that means, but I suspect it’s somethin like: Fun to kiss, but don’t get knocked up. That’s some good advice.

10

The Traffic Light

Mary Beth

I’ve got four kids packed into the Subaru, one in the front and three in the back, and we’re bound for Toddlers Are People, Too. The biggest pain about driving the carpool is strapping those toddler boosters in every single school day, but like I said, I just want to lend a hand. Dr. Kelly is on the radio, and I’m fixing to see what kind of advice she’s gonna give to the woman who just called in. The Doctor Kelly Show is like Jerry Springer, only you don’t have the advantage of actually seeing what the guests look like. On television, when the guests come traipsing out on stage, the audience immediately knows they’ve got a special case on their hands. The anxiety starts building the moment you lay eyes on the puny, goateed boyfriend. It seems like the boyfriend isn’t fully formed yet, like he’s stuck in some kind of metamorphosis between tadpole and man. Then the wife or girlfriend stomps out looking like a sumo wrestler, wearing a bikini top and low-slung shorts, with a bunch of Chinese letters tattooed across her chest. A lot of people get real emotional about Asian lettering, as if anything written in Chinese must embody all that is peaceful, or yin yang, or feng shui, but for all they know, that tattoo says something real terrible in Chinese, like “puppy eater.” I’m just saying, if I need an interpreter to read it, it’s not gonna get permanently stamped into my skin.

Dr. Kelly’s latest caller says, “Dr. Kelly, my husband is paralyzed from the waist down. I feel like he should help with the dishes since his arms work…”

I can’t stand it anymore. I click off the AM station and push in my Linda Ronstadt’s Greatest Hits tape. I fast forward to my favorite song and start singing, “You and I travel to the beat of a different drum, Oh, can’t you tell by the way I run, every time you make eyes at me.” I belt it out to the toddlers, while they clap their chubby hands. “And I ain’t sayin’ you ain’t pretty, All I’m saying is I’m not ready—” When I’m distracted by something in my rearview mirror. Linda and I are going to have to pick this up later because I’m being tailgated again. By the same individual as always. At the red light, I stop and he stops behind me. I put the car in park, roll down the windows, and remove the key. In the words of the monkey from the Lion King, It is time.

I turn to the toddlers and say, “Just a minute. Miss Mary Beth is gonna take care of a little business.” Then I shut the door and walk to the driver’s side door of the car behind me, and rap firmly on his window. He looks at me over his glasses and rolls down the window.

“Hello, Dr. Dorrie,” I say. “Fancy seeing you here at the light, so close behind me.”

“Do I know you?” he asks.

I keep my composure, even though he does indeed know me. He’s seen me in nothing but a paper gown. I realize he’s got several mental hurdles that must affect him every minute of every day, so I help him by removing my sunglasses and say, “I’m one of your patients, Mary Beth Green.”

“Cape Cod?”

“Nooo.”

The light turns green and the cars behind us start honking, and driving around us. About that same time Dr. Dorrie’s face breaks out into this huge smile and he says, “Juuust kidding. How could I forget you? Getting enough sleep these days?”

“What?”

“You were catching some winks when I walked into the exam room. Remember?”

I shake my head and I say, “I wouldn’t have fallen asleep if you didn’t make me wait so long in a freezing exam room. In a paper gown. Ya’ll should get some real robes. Or fur coats. It’s way too cold in there. Anyway, I could have fallen off that examination table and cracked my head wide open.” Then I take a deep breath and continue. “Also could you please not follow me so closely? It makes me nervous.” There, I said it. It feels so great to tell Dr. Jersey that he is the one who is making me wait, that he is the one who is causing me distress. It’s not the other way around, like he always acts. My face is hot and my heart is pounding.

Dr. Dorrie takes off his glasses, wipes them, and puts them back on, like he’s thinking. Then he says, “I didn’t realize you felt unsafe during your appointment. I’ll talk to Dr. Salander about putting some pads on the floor, or maybe employing the belt to strap you in. We don’t normally use that, because patients are more comfortable without it, but I never thought much about the possibility of women falling off the table and injuring themselves. The patient’s comfort and safety is a high priority for us. Cotton robes are also a good suggestion.”

I nod and feel myself softening. Good God. Where is my resolve?

I hear myself saying, “I probably wouldn’t have fallen off, since I’ve got very good slumbering balance, but others may not be so lucky.”

Dr. Dorrie smiles and says, “Not everyone has good slumbering balance.”

I can’t help but notice how smooth his face is and what a pleasant smile he has. I need to get a hold of myself. I remind myself of all those New Jersey line-breakers, and shake my head in disgust.

Then he says, “Hey, it’s been great talking with you. I’ve gotta get back to the office, but thanks for the good advice. Also, you should get your lights fixed. It’s very dangerous like that. I can’t tell when you’re gonna slow down, so I end up having to slam on brakes every few seconds.”

“My lights?”

“Yeah, both your brake lights are out. I just realized I’ve been behind your car on countless mornings on my way to the office. Sometimes I leave a little later to avoid you. Weird.”

“It is weird,” I nod, twisting my keys. “Small world.”

“So it’s a good thing you stopped,” he says. “And I’m glad to know it’s you driving the car instead of some neurotic road-rager who might shoot me or slash my tires.”

I laugh a little too hard and say, “Me too. I’m glad it’s just me.” Then I remember it’s not just me. “The toddlers!” I run and jump in my car, put it in gear and crawl to the preschool, taking back streets. I look in my rearview mirror. Dr. Dorrie is following me. When I pull into the parking lot of Toddlers Are People, Too, he salutes me. As he drives away, I wonder if he was serious when he mentioned strapping me to the table.