In the Neighborhood of Normal

by Cindy Maddox

  And with that she led him out of the room.

  When they got out to the hall, Pastor Jeff said, “Mish, what’s wrong? You need prayer?”

  “Oh, good Lord, no!” she said with a laugh. “Well, I probably do, but I just said that to get you away from the hen-pecking!”

  He laughed and put an arm around her shoulder as they walked. “Thank you, Mish! Your timing is impeccable, and your kindness knows no bounds.”

  Mish stopped and looked up at him. “I also wanted to say something to you. I know we don’t always see eye to eye. But I want you to know that I think you’re a wonderful preacher and I hope you stay here a good long while. This church needs what you have to give.” And with that she pulled his lapels until he bent toward her, and she kissed him on the cheek.

  When she pulled away, she noticed that his eyes were misty, so she gave him a wink. “By the way, those hens back there giving you a hard time. You might want to give them a laxative.”

  “A laxative?” Jeff repeated.

  She leaned in and whispered. “That’s what I do when my hens are full of shit.”

  Two hours later she pulled into the parking lot where she and Ann had agreed to meet. The car was barely in park when the door opened, and Ann slid in. She was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, and after tossing her backpack into the back, she buckled her seatbelt and then slouched down in the seat.

  “So,” Mish began. “Are you going in cognito the whole trip or just until we leave Micky D’s?”

  Ann looked at Mish over her sunglasses. “That obvious?”

  Mish chuckled. “Pretty obvious, but I understand. So let’s blow this joint. Or is it blow this lemonade stand? What’s the phrase you kids use?”

  Ann laughed. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘blow this popsicle stand’ but that’s more my parents’ generation than mine.”

  “Ah, well, I never was good with the lingo.” She pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the interstate. “You’re my navigator, right? Where are your maps?”

  “Actually, you have them. On your phone.” She pointed to Mish’s phone in the console. “May I? I had to leave mine with my friend.”

  “Sure, but I didn’t think kids your age went anywhere without their phones—especially out of town.”

  “Well, I didn’t do it by choice. My parents use an app that tracks my phone. So it has to be wherever I’m supposed to be, which right now is at my friend Hailey’s house. I gave her your number so she can contact me if there are any problems. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. In fact, you can be in charge of my phone the whole trip. Just put it down once in a while to keep me company. When my son comes to visit, he hardly looks up from his. I know the top of his head very well.”

  “Actually, I was looking for something to play for you. You mentioned that you are interested in spoken word poetry. Want to hear some more?”

  “Ooh, I’d love to,” Mish said.

  They spent the next half hour listening to some poets Ann had chosen for her. Mish especially liked Taylor somebody’s poem about teachers and Katie somebody’s poem about being pretty. But when she asked Ann if these were her favorites, Ann admitted that they weren’t. She liked the younger poets—people in high school and college who used poetry to talk about the really hard stuff in their lives.

  “Do you use poetry that way?” she asked.

  Ann shrugged. “Sometimes. About the big stuff in society, like racism and sexism and stuff.”

  “But not the personal stuff?”

  “Not recently. I haven’t wanted to…” Ann’s voice trailed off.

  Mish understood. “Sometimes it’s hard enough just having the bad stuff in your head. Seeing it with your eyes, too, just makes it realer.”

  The girl nodded and then stared out the window. They were silent for a few minutes until Mish’s phone dinged again with a text message. “Somebody sent you a picture. No, two pictures. And she wants to know which you like.”

  “Oh, that’s Emma,” Mish explained. “She writes to me for advice.”

  “Fashion advice?”

  Mish laughed at the surprise in Ann’s voice. “Sometimes life advice, sometimes relationships, but mostly clothes. She seems to have trouble trusting her own opinions. So I help sometimes.”

  “Interesting,” Ann said. “And how do you know her?”

  “I don’t really. I just know her on the text machine. But I try to help anyways. What did she send, pictures of clothes?”

  Ann looked at the phone again. “Yeah, in one she’s wearing leggings and a long blue shirt, and in the other—”

  “I don’t need to know,” Mish interrupted. “Just ask her which one she likes best, and—assuming it’s not horrible—then tell her you like that one too.”

  Ann looked sideways at her. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” Mish chuckled. “She needs to learn to trust herself. So compliment her. Give her a little pep talk.”

  She shrugged and took a deep breath. “I’ll do my best.”

  Mish watched as she typed on the phone, got replies, typed back. A few minutes later Ann said, “All right, I did what you said. She liked the same one I did, so that was easy. I told her she looked really cute—which she did—and she wrote back with a bunch of emojis.”

  “Are those the little smiley faces and hearts and stuff?”

  “Yeah, some kids use a lot of those. I think more in high school than in college, and she seemed college age. Is that right?”

  “I think so. She mentioned a party at a sorority one time. I’m not sure where she goes.”

  “And how did you say you met her?” she asked.

  Mish knew she was fishing, but she didn’t mind. “I haven’t met her. I don’t even know how she got my number. But she said she was so glad to have it and it meant so much and now she writes me for advice. She’s really insecure so I just go with it, try to help her out.”

  Ann just stared at her, then shook her head. “Wow, that is really nice—to just help people you’ve never even met.”

  Mish almost laughed at the irony. “I guess. I just never thought you needed to know somebody in order to want to help them.”

  Ann faced the window, and Mish decided to leave her alone with her thoughts. They drove quite a way in silence before the girl finally spoke again. “My name’s Juliann.”

  “Okay,” Mish said simply.

  She pushed her hair back from her face. “I just thought you should know. Since you’re driving me to DC and all, I figured we should be on a first name basis.”

  “Seems fair,” Mish agreed. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  Mish glanced sideways. Was the girl finally ready to open up to her? To tell her story? To talk about when it happened and who the father is and how she feels about the abortion and why she’s afraid of her dad? There was so much she didn’t know and wanted to know but wouldn’t ask.

  “I forgot to pee before we left.”

  “Oh, goodie!” Mish said with a laugh. “I thought I’d be the first one to make us stop! So find us a fast food place to stop at. I hate them gas station toilets.”

  They took an exit a few miles down the road. As soon as they turned, Mish heard a voice say, “Return to the route.”

  “Who was that?”

  “That’s the map app. It knows we got off the interstate. It’s trying to tell us to get back on.”

  “Doesn’t it have a hold-on-we-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom button?”

  Juliann tapped on the phone. “I don’t think so. I haven’t used this app much since I’m just learning to drive. I think it’s just going to keep telling us that until we get back on the interstate.”

  Mish pulled into the closest parking lot.

  “Return to the route.�
�

  Mish leaned toward the phone. “We have to go potty,” she said.

  “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way,” Juliann told her.

  She tried again. “We have to go potty!” she yelled. That’s when she noticed the young couple in the convertible next to them, both staring at her. Juliann was slouched in her seat again, but this time she was laughing.

  “Fine,” Mish said. “I’ll go potty by myself. You just stay here and be embarrassed.”

  “No, I’m coming with you!” she said as she jumped out of the car. She turned and looked at the couple in the convertible. “I have to go potty, too,” she explained. Then she put her arm through Mish’s as they scurried into the restaurant, laughing as they went.

  ***

  They got back in the car ten minutes later with chocolate shakes and french fries. Mish leaned toward the phone. “All right, boss lady, we’re ready to ‘return to the route.’ Happy now?”

  “Wouldn’t you just freak out if she answered?” Juliann asked.

  “Not as much as I would if Floyd answered, and I still talk to him every day!” She guided the car back onto the interstate. “I know he can’t hear me, but I was never sure he was listening anyway. So no big difference, I guess.”

  Juliann tucked her hair behind her ear as she looked out the window. She’d been wondering about Mish and her husband and what their relationship had been like. It sounded like he was pretty cruel, the way he put Mish down. She wondered if he was physically abusive, too, and hated the thought of that. She couldn’t imagine Mish putting up with what her mother put up with. Mish wasn’t weak, like Juliann’s mom. She was…Juliann searched for the right word. Salty? Fiery? Spunky. It’s not a word she remembered using before, but somehow it fit this old woman who had become her best friend.

  Woah, where did that thought come from? she asked herself. How could an eighty-two-year-old woman be her best friend? They had nothing—absolutely nothing—in common. But somehow, she felt more comfortable talking to Mish than she did to any of her friends. She could even say things to Mish she never could have said to her own grandmother. Why? She knew her grandma loved her. Adored her, even. Thought she was perfect and the best and…

  That was it. Her grandma thought she was perfect. Being perfect is a helluva lot of pressure.

  “Mish? Can we talk about something serious for a minute?”

  “Of course. Do I need to pull over?”

  “No!” Juliann said quickly. “I mean, it’s fine to keep driving. I just—I just need to tell you something.”

  “You can tell me anything, hon.”

  “I know, that’s just it. I can say anything to you, and that’s so weird.”

  Mish tilted her head to one side. “Maybe because I’m weird?”

  “You’re not weird,” Juliann rushed to assure her.

  “Really, it’s all right,” Mish said. “I am strange. I know this about myself. An odd duck, my mama used to call me. I used to try to fit in but I wasn’t no good at it. Then I realized that because I’m just me, odd as I am, sometimes other folks can just be themselves with me—like they don’t have to pretend or nothing. They tell me things they wouldn’t say to nobody else.” She shrugged. “I’m not normal, but I don’t mind. I’m at least in the neighborhood.”

  “I think I know what you’re saying. I do find myself being sillier with you than I do with anybody else. But that’s not what I mean.”

  “Okay, then why is it weird that you can talk to me?”

  “It’s not weird—it’s great. It’s just that…” She sighed. For someone who considered herself a poet, she sure was having a hard time finding the words. She tried again. “I don’t have any pressure not to disappoint you. You don’t ‘expect great things from me’ like my teachers do, or expect me to make you proud like my parents do. You already know the worst thing about me. So I don’t have to worry about you finding out more. You know the worst and you still want to help me, seem to care about me, even. I have no idea why, but you do. And that makes me feel bad because I tried to use you.” She rushed through her words because she was afraid she wouldn’t get them out otherwise. “When we went to the clinic and I said you were my grandma, I said it because I thought maybe they’d let you give permission for the abortion. Then your face lit up, and I felt so bad and…”

  Mish put her hand on Juliann’s leg. “Oh, hon, did you think I didn’t know that? I mean, sure, at first I thought you meant it, but then as soon as you said you thought another relative might be able to sign for you, I knew what you was doing.”

  “But didn’t that hurt your feelings?”

  “I know your grandma was special to you. I know you don’t feel about me the way you did about her. But this ain’t the 4-H.”

  “What does…”

  “I mean this ain’t a contest, with a blue ribbon going to who you love the most.” She patted Juliann’s leg then put her hand back on the steering wheel. “And if it was, I’d be happy to have an Honorable Mention.”

  Juliann smiled. “Okay, you definitely get at least an Honorable Mention. But I think I need a name for you.”

  She grinned. “Mish isn’t good enough for you, Um-Ann?”

  “Mish is just fine. I should’ve said I need a new title for you. You’re like a cross between a grandma and a best friend. Maybe you’re my friend-ma. Or my best-grand.”

  “Ooh, I like that one! I’m best AND grand! But I think I’m gonna need me a tiara to go with it. Or at least a beauty pageant sash.”

  Juliann grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.” She picked up Mish’s phone to check the time and saw that somebody had texted her a photo. She clicked on it and—“Holy shit!” she yelled.

  Mish swerved and almost drove off the road. “Don’t do that to an old woman!” she yelled back.

  “I’m sorry! But you just got a dick pic.”

  “A what??”

  “A picture. Of—of somebody’s penis.”

  “Well, that didn’t come from Jesus!” Mish exclaimed.

  Juliann didn’t know why Mish would say such a thing, but she was too freaked out to ask.

  “Why would somebody send me that?” Mish persisted.

  “I’m sure it’s a wrong number. I’ve gotten wrong number texts before. Not like this one, though!”

  “I’ve heard on the news about men doing that. One of the politicians got in trouble for it a while back. But I don’t understand why anybody thinks that’s a good idea. Are they so in love with their own parts they just have to share ’em with the world?”

  “I don’t know, but this guy obviously is sending it to someone he doesn’t know well enough to even have them in his contacts list. Probably hitting on some girl in a bar who gave him a fake number.”

  “Can you delete it for me?”

  “Sure, but can I have some fun first?”

  Mish looked over at her skeptically. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I saw something that someone else did one time. Let me get into your photo editing app.”

  “My what?”

  “Hold on.” Two minutes later the guy’s dick bore a striking resemblance to the little one-eyed, green guy on SpongeBob SquarePants.

  “Lemme see! Lemme see!” Mish said it with such enthusiasm that Juliann couldn’t help but comply. And the resulting fit of giggles made Mish seem about twelve years old.

  When the siren sounded, the laughter died in Juliann’s throat. Then the police car came up right behind them with its lights flashing, and Juliann knew they were in trouble. Had her parents found out? How? Hailey hadn’t texted to say anything was wrong. But if they knew, “shit storm” was not a strong enough way to describe what was about to go down.

  Mish pulled over, then patted Juliann’s knee again. “You all right with being my granddaughter again? For five minutes?” Juliann no
dded. “Then calm down. It’s gonna be fine. Just get my registration out of the glove box for me.”

  Juliann shook her head. “My driver’s ed teacher said you’re not supposed to go rummaging around when a cop stops you. They might think you’re going for a gun. Just sit still with your hands in plain sight.”

  “Good thinking.” Mish put her hands on the steering wheel and looked in the rearview mirror. “What’s taking him so long?”

  “He’s checking your plates, making sure the car isn’t wanted for outstanding tickets or accidents.”

  “Well, aren’t you just a fountain of information!” Mish smiled at her, but she was too nervous to smile back. She chewed on her thumbnail while she tried to peer into the rearview mirror. Pretty soon the police officer or trooper or whatever he was got out of his car and approached the driver’s side door.

  “Driver’s license and registration,” he said sternly. Juliann noticed that the man’s hand was not resting on his gun. She took that as a good sign.

  “I’d be happy to,” Mish replied, “but my purse is in the back seat and my registration is in the glove box, and my granddaughter tells me I’m not supposed to go reaching for them until you know what I’m doing. Is it all right with you if I get those?” When he nodded, Juliann rummaged in the glove compartment for any official-looking papers while Mish reached for her purse and got out her wallet.

  The trooper looked over both documents but didn’t give them back. “Mrs. Atkinson,” he began.

  “Please, call me Mish. Everybody does,” she said with a smile.

  “Mrs. Atkinson, do you know why I pulled you over?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. I don’t think I was speeding, and I don’t think it was for my good looks.”