by Fannie Flagg
Dena was appalled. A psychiatrist! What in the world was Dr. Halling thinking about? She wanted to turn around and leave. But she was stuck. Halling would find out if she didn’t show, so she might as well go on in and humor them both.
She got out on seventeen, knocked on his door, and heard a voice say, “Come in.” Dena walked in the office and a young man, not much older than she, stood up and shook her hand.
“Hello, Miss Nordstrom, I’m Dr. O’Malley.”
He was a neat, preppie-looking man in horned-rimmed glasses. He had blue eyes and fair, almost baby skin. He looked as if his mother had dressed him and combed his hair before he left this morning.
“You’re the doctor?”
“Yes. Won’t you have a seat?”
“I don’t know why,” she said, sitting down, “but I was expecting an older man with a beard.”
He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you but I haven’t had much luck with beards.”
He sat down, took out a pad and pen, and waited for her to speak. This was something she would soon find out he did a great deal.
Finally she said, “Umm, I’m not here to see a psychiatrist. I mean, I’m not here because I think I need a psychiatrist, believe me.”
He nodded. Something else he would do a lot.
“I have an ulcer, and this was Dr. Halling’s idea. I just have a little stress, job related.”
He nodded pleasantly and made a few notes. She sat back and waited for him to speak.
He didn’t.
“Anyhow, that’s why I’m here, because of job-related stress.”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded, “and what is it you do?”
“About what?”
“What is your job?”
Dena was taken aback. “Television!”
“What do you … do?”
“I’m on it.”
He nodded and waited for her to continue. There was a longer, more awkward pause. “You might have seen me. I do interviews on an evening news show.”
“No, sorry. I’m afraid I don’t get the chance to watch much TV.”
Dena was thrown. “Oh, well. Anyhow, it’s an important job and …”
Suddenly Dena felt irritated at having to explain who she was and what she did. “I’m sure you spoke to Dr. Halling about my ulcer. He thinks that I should talk to somebody about stress.” Dena glanced over at the couch. “Should I lie down … or something?”
Dr. O’Malley said, “Not unless you want to.”
“Oh. Well … can I smoke?”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Dena hated this already. “Are you allergic or something?”
“No. But it’s not a very good idea for someone with an ulcer to smoke.”
Dena, more and more irritated, began to bounce her right foot up and down, legs crossed. This guy was a real jerk.
“Look, the only reason I came was because I promised Dr. Halling I would.”
He nodded.
“So, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Don’t you want to ask me some questions or something?”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” he said, in that maddening noncommittal way.
“I told you. I am under a lot of stress and I am having a hard time sleeping and I thought you might prescribe something to help, that’s all.”
“Suppose we talk a little first.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Is there anything in particular bothering you, anything you’d like to talk about?”
“No, not really.”
He looked at her and waited. She looked around the room. “Listen, I’m sure you are a nice person and I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I don’t really believe in all this stuff. All this whining and bellyaching about what your mother and daddy did when you were three. It may be all right for some people but, really, I’m the least screwed-up person I know.”
Dr. O’Malley continued to listen.
“I know exactly what I want, I knew from the time I was twelve what I wanted to be. I’m not weird or have some strange sexual attraction to my mailbox or something. Nothing is bothering me, I just have a small stomach problem.”
He nodded again. She continued.
“I’m not depressed, my job is going great. I have no desire to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, I don’t think I’m Napoleon. My parents didn’t beat me—”
Dr. O’Malley, making more notes, said, “Tell me a little about your parents.”
“What?”
“Your parents.”
“They’re fine, they’re dead, but they didn’t tie me to a bedpost or anything. I’m very well adjusted. One of the things people have always said about me is that I am confident and mature. People come to me with their problems. In fact, everybody says I’m the most normal person they have ever met—and believe me, in my business that’s hard.”
“Any siblings?”
“What?”
“Brothers or sisters?”
“No. Just me.”
“I see,” he said and wrote only child. “How old were you when your parents died?”
“My father was killed in the war before I was born.”
He waited. She looked around the room. “How long does it take to become a psychiatrist?”
Dr. O’Malley said, “A long time. And your mother?”
“What?”
“How old were you when your mother died?”
“I forget. Does it take less time to be a psychiatrist than it does to be a real doctor?”
“No, it doesn’t. What was the cause of death?”
Dena looked at him. “What?”
“Your mother.”
“Oh, hit by a car.” Dena began to rummage around in her purse.
“I see. How did you feel about that?”
“Just like anyone would feel if their mother was run over. But you get over it. Do you have any gum or anything?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
He waited for her to continue but she did not. After a minute she became more agitated. “Look, I’m not here to be analyzed. I don’t need it. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Doctor, but I basically am a very happy person. I have everything I want. I’m in a very nice relationship. Things couldn’t be better; all I have is a bad stomach.”
He nodded and made notes. What was he doing, playing tic-tac-toe? When the session ended, Dena couldn’t wait to leave. She wondered what the hell was she going to talk to this cold fish about for the next two months. How could she possibly talk to this guy? He was an idiot, a Neanderthal.
He didn’t even watch television, for God’s sake!
Meanwhile, Back at the Springs
Elmwood Springs, Missouri
1974
Norma, Macky, and Aunt Elner were having dinner in the dining room. Norma passed the rolls. “Poor Tot, here she spent all morning baking that cake and then to have it ruined. I tell you, she has the worst luck.”
Aunt Elner’s face was sad. “Poor Tot.”
Norma said, “Imagine, of all days for Blue Boy to do such a thing. Here she had made this beautiful spice cake for the church supper.”
“She makes a good spice cake,” Aunt Elner said. “You have to give her that.”
“Oh, yes, nobody can make a spice cake like Poor Tot.”
Macky asked, “Who’s Blue Boy?”
Norma said, “He’s the one who ruined her cake. She said she went to put it on the cake plate and lo and behold she looked down and noticed there were bird tracks all over it. He had walked all over it.”
Macky asked again, “Who’s Blue Boy?”
“That stupid parakeet of hers.”
Aunt Elner said, “It’s not blue, it’s more of a green if you ask me. On top of everything else, poor Tot is probably color blind as well.”
Norma thought for a moment. “I don’t think women can be color blind. I think it’s only men.… Anyhow Poor Old Tot, married to that drunk and now this.”
“Why
does she call it Blue Boy if it’s green?” Macky asked.
“I don’t know why, that’s not the question. The question is, what was it doing out of its cage? She said she had to throw the thing out and start over.”
“The bird?”
“No, Macky, the cake.”
Aunt Elner said, “Well, I don’t know why, a few bird tracks never hurt anybody.”
Norma looked at her with alarm. “I don’t know about you, but I sure wouldn’t want to eat a cake that some germy bird has stomped all over. You don’t know; that thing could have done his business on that cake. That’s all we need is for everyone over at the church to come down with some bird disease and then to have that happen to her hair the very next day. She said when Darlene got her out from under the dryer and started combing her out, it came out by the handfuls. She said she was lucky to have a hair left on her head.”
Aunt Elner said, “Birds walk all over my table and I’m not dead yet. I think she should have just smoothed it out and gone on.”
“Well, remind me never to eat at your house. Anyway, she said Darlene used too much bleach and kept it on too long or something. She did the same thing to Verbena’s niece last year, remember?”
Macky said, “Why do you keep going back to her is my question.”
“Well, Macky, how would you like to raise four children all by yourself? That’s what she’s doing thanks to your dear friend, who just took off into the wild blue yonder with that dental assistant and left her stranded with four young children.”
“My dear friend? Norma, I bowled with the guy a few times. He was twenty years old. I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like.”
“I’ll tell you what he looked like, he looked like a criminal, that’s what, with all those tattoos. And those little pea eyes. Why you would want to bowl with somebody like that and socialize with a criminal type, is beyond me. Don’t character count in bowling?”
“How did a conversation about hair turn into a conversation about me bowling?”
Aunt Elner, who by coincidence just happened to be helping herself to another serving of English peas, said, “Those children got those pea eyes from their daddy’s side of the family.”
Norma agreed. “Yes, but the oldest one is not too bad.” She turned back to her husband. “Anyway, Macky, what do you want her to do, not work? Let those children starve to death?”
“No, of course not. It just seems to me all I hear are complaints about how bad she is at fixing hair. Can’t she get another job, something she’d at least be good at? A waitress or something?”
Aunt Elner said, “She’s not smart enough to be a waitress, bless her heart.”
“How smart do you have to be to be a waitress?”
Norma said, “Well you have to be smart enough to spell to write up orders. She said this is the only job in town that doesn’t require spelling. I read the label on everything before she puts it on my head, I can tell you that.”
Aunt Elner was still sad. “Poor Tot … her hair was thin enough without this happening. Her mother had thin hair, you could see right through it.”
Norma said, “I read that ninety-nine percent of criminals have tattoos; did you know that, Macky?”
“No.”
“Well, they do. Show me a tattoo and I’ll show you a criminal!”
“I’ll be sure and tell the Reverend Dockrill that. He’s got one.”
Norma was shocked. “The Presbyterian preacher?”
“Yeah.”
“Nooo. Where?”
“On his arm.”
“What does it say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You’re making that up. He does not have a tattoo.”
“He does. Do we have any more butter?”
Norma got up and went to the kitchen. “Macky Warren, you are too making that up. Just to irritate me.”
Macky laughed and looked at Aunt Elner. “I’m not. He does.”
Norma said, “When did you see it?”
“Last summer, when we were building the new firehouse. He had his shirt off.”
“Where on his arm?”
Macky pointed to the top of his arm. “Somewhere around here.”
“Oh, I don’t believe it. I’ve never heard of a Presbyterian preacher with a tattoo in my life. You are making that up.”
“Norma, I’m not making it up. I don’t care one way or the other if he has a picture of Marilyn Monroe tattooed on his behind but I’m telling you he does—”
“Are you going to sit there and tell me that Reverend John Dockrill has a picture of Marilyn Monroe tattooed on his behind?”
“I said I wouldn’t care if he did. I’m sorry now that I even mentioned it.”
Norma glanced at him with suspicion. “Which arm?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. What difference does it make?”
“Well, was it big or little?”
“His arm?”
“No, the tattoo.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Macky, you are the most unobservant person I have ever met. You are the only person in the entire world that could look at a tattoo on a preacher and not even pay attention to what it was.”
Aunt Elner piped in, “Maybe it was a religious tattoo. Was it a cross or the Last Supper?”
“Aunt Elner, I really don’t remember. I wasn’t paying all that much attention.”
“I’ll tell you why he can’t remember, Aunt Elner, because he never saw it, that’s why! You better be careful, Macky, or I’ll tell John Dockrill that you said he had a tattoo.”
“Go ahead.”
“I know Betsy Dockrill and I know she would never marry a man with a tattoo.”
“Whatever you say, Norma.”
“Betsy … is she the one that went off to Bible school?”
“No, honey, that was Patsy.”
“Who?”
“Anna Lee’s friend, Patsy.”
“Who?”
“Patsy Henry. They ran the nursery school on Neighbor Dorothy’s back porch. Dorothy’s daughter, Anna Lee?”
“Oh, Anna Lee’s friend. Over at Neighbor Dorothy’s. Yes, I remember her, had a pug nose.”
“That’s right.” Norma turned back to her husband. “Macky, I’ll bet you a month’s worth of back rubs that John Dockrill does not have a tattoo.”
“You don’t want to do that, because you’ll lose.”
“See, Aunt Elner, he won’t bet. I told you he’s making the whole thing up. He knows I can call Betsy right now and ask—”
“Go on,” said Macky.
“Don’t dare me; you know I’ll do it.”
“Do what you want. You want to give me a month’s worth of back rubs, who am I to say no?”
Norma looked at Aunt Elner. “Should I call her?”
“Well, I wish you would. Now you’ve got me curious.”
“All right, I will.” Norma stood up. “Here I go … I’m going …” She waited but Macky looked at her and kept on eating. She walked into the kitchen and called out: “Last chance, Macky. I have the phone in my hand … here I go … I’m dialing.”
After a moment of silence they heard Norma say, “Hello, Betsy … it’s Norma; how are you? Good. How’s your mother? Good. Oh, nothing. We were just sitting here, having a little bite to eat. Aunt Elner is here.… Macaroni and cheese and ham, baked apple, English peas. Well, I know this is a perfectly silly question to ask—and you are going to think I’m crazy—but I was reading this article about tattoos … tattoos … yes … and, well, John doesn’t have a tattoo, does he? Oh. Well, that’s what I thought. Oh, no reason, we were just wondering if we knew anybody that had one. Uh-huh. Well, I’ll let you run on. I know you’re busy. I’ll see you Thursday. You take care now.”
Norma came back to the table and sat down and continued eating.
Macky waited. Then he said, “Well?”
Norma did not look at him. “Well, what?”
Aunt Elner said, “Does
he have a tattoo or not?”
Norma reached across and picked up a dinner roll.
“Macky Warren, I could kill you.”
“Me? Why?”
“I made a complete fool out of myself and it’s all your fault.”
“My fault?”
“The one time you’re not making something up … and you let me go in there and make a complete fool of myself. You knew darn well that he had a tattoo.”
“I told you he had a tattoo. Didn’t I, Aunt Elner?”
“Yes, he said he did.”
“You should have stopped me. You deliberately let me go in there and—”
Aunt Elner said, “What’s it a tattoo of, is it a lamb?”
“No.”
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s just a heart with a name inside.”
“What does it say?”
“It says ‘Wanda.’ ”
Aunt Elner was taken aback. “Wanda … I thought his wife’s name was Betsy.…”
Norma glared at Macky. “Macky, I could kill you.”
“I wonder who Wanda is?” Aunt Elner mused.
“I don’t know and I certainly didn’t ask.”
“Poor little Betsy.”
Norma looked up at Macky, who was smiling. “What are you so happy about?”
“I believe I’ll have my first back rub after dinner.”
Norma shook her head. “See, Aunt Elner, see what I put up with? Well, that’s what I get for ever fooling with his silly bets.”
“Maybe his mother’s name was Wanda.”
Macky chuckled. “No, Aunt Elner, I don’t think that was his mother’s name.”
She was baffled. “Norma, did she offer any hint as to who it was?”
“No, and she did not seem thrilled about me asking, either. It was extremely embarrassing for both of us, thank you very much, Macky!”
“I don’t know why you didn’t believe me.”
“Because what person in their right mind would ever think that a Presbyterian, particularly a minister, would have a tattoo? You can’t tell me that’s a normal occurrence.”
“Maybe it’s from the Bible?”
Norma said, “No, Aunt Elner. I don’t think there’s anybody in the Bible named Wanda.”
“She wasn’t one of the apostles’ wives, was she?”
“No, honey.” Norma frowned at Macky. “I’ll tell you one thing, you can thank your lucky stars you didn’t have some other woman’s name tattooed on you when I married you.”
