Girls Like Us

by Gail Giles

  My head start to ache. I couldn’t think of nothing to say. I went back to washing the tomatoes.

  “So, can you get me some dry corns at the store where you work?”

  “Biddy, I work at a grocery store. I don’t know where to get dry corn. And you don’t got to go feeding that duck. It’s been having babies all by itself for a long time. It don’t need your help.”

  Biddy sniff her nose. “That’s what you know.”

  Now, what was that s’pose to mean?

  We went on over to Lizabeth’s and I roast us a chicken and made a tomato and basil salad with hunks of cheese and olive oil drizzled on top. Biddy watch how Lizabeth eat and use her napkin and did exactly how Lizabeth did.

  “Miss Lizzy, do you know where I can get dry corns?” Biddy axt.

  “Oh, Lord, here we go,” I say.

  Biddy cut me a look and say, “You hush. You don’t even like ducks.”

  Lizabeth put her napkin up to her mouth. Look like maybe she be hiding a smile. Now Biddy got Lizabeth thinking I’m a fool.

  “Ain’t got nothing to do with liking or not liking ducks,” I said low-like.

  “Miss Lizzy, can you get rabies from a duck?”

  That napkin too small to hide Lizabeth’s smile now.

  “Why, Biddy, I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of”— a little laugh jump out Lizabeth’s mouth —“duck rabies.”

  Biddy nod her head at me, like “See!”

  “We need to be eating this chicken before it get cold,” I say. I say it loud so Biddy would hush her mouth.

  “Miss Lizzy, I need corns to feed that Mama Duck so she don’t leave her babies.”

  A look crosst Lizabeth’s face that was so sad and soft I was certain sure right then that Lizabeth knew ’bout Biddy’s took-away baby.

  “You could ask Stephen to get you some corn.”

  “I can’t be asking no boy for nothin’,” Biddy say, so low I almost couldn’t hear her.

  Lizabeth let the clock ticktock a little bit, then say, “I believe you could buy dry corn at a feed store, Biddy.”

  “I have to leave here and go get it?” Biddy slunk down. But right away she hitch up her back. “How far is a feed store?”

  “We’d have to look it up. We’ll do that another time. As Quincy said, we need to eat this wonderful chicken before it gets cold.”

  I thought about saying we oughta roast that duck and make omelets from the eggs, but sassy as Biddy done got, I figured she might stab me with her fork. Fool girl acting so crazy she might have the duck rabies already.

  I’m going to do it! I’m going to find a feed store and I’m going to walk to it and buy dry corns. I don’t care what Quincy got to say.

  I had me a bad dream last night. Inside my head, Robert jabbing his finger at me. I be seeing the look in his eyes and Jen saying, “He’s trouble, he’s trouble, he’s trouble.” I hope I’m just havin’ crazy bad dreams like Biddy and didn’t go get the second sight all of a sudden.

  I woke up tired after all my dreaming. I had me a long hot shower and went to Lizabeth’s. I drank extra-strong coffee whilst I made us omelets and toast.

  Biddy bustle in just about the time Lizabeth show up. Lizabeth look a bit peckish. I wondered what kind of dreams she had. Biddy was nervous and rattling the silverware until Lizabeth and me both got a case of the jumps. All three of us did a lot of egg poking, and more food got scooted around than ate.

  “Biddy, dear, could you please not tap your spoon like that? I have a touch of headache,” Lizabeth say.

  Biddy drop her spoon with a clatter. “Sorry, Miss Lizzy.”

  Lizabeth didn’t hear her. She was stirring and staring into her tea.

  “Miss Lizzy?”

  Lizabeth jerked like she been woke up. “Yes?”

  “Can you show me where to find a feed store? And tell me how to walk there?”

  Lizabeth stare at Biddy with worry and sad all mixed up in her face. “Yes. Let’s go do that now. I’m not hungry.” She turnt to me. “Everything is wonderful, Quincy. I’m having a bit of a bad day.”

  Woo, don’t I know how that feel.

  Those two went off in another room. I left the dishes for Biddy. That was part of the deal. My feet walked slow toward the Brown Cow. Seem like now that Robert was gone, I’d feel better, but I was feeling like a fairy story and the children heading into the dark woods.

  Miss Lizzy drew a map. She made arrows on the street where I turn. She told me the directions like it was a story so I could remember. “Walk until you see a building that looks like a little cottage and then turn toward it, then go until you see a stop sign and turn the other direction.” She gave me money and said it was a “vance” on my salary. I helped Miss Lizzy back to her bed. She asked me to make her herb tea and to turn on the radio real soft.

  “You know, Biddy, I was raised to be a southern belle. That means that I always use good manners.”

  I look at Miss Lizzy. “Why, you got the best manners I ever see. You always dress up nice. Your clothes never got wrinkles — and you don’t slurp soup.”

  Miss Lizzy give a little smile, but she still look sad. “Good manners can mean keeping out of others’ personal business. But it also means helping right wrongs.”

  Miss Lizzy didn’t seem to be talking to me. But there wasn’t nobody else in the room. “I think of my youngest son often. My boy that died. I’ve often wondered what kind of man he would have been. How I wish I could see him just once more.” She sighed and looked back at me. “Why don’t you go get your corn now, Biddy. I need to rest and be alone with my thoughts.”

  Miss Lizzy had a child that died?

  That was worse than having a child being took away.

  I worried because Miss Lizzy didn’t feel good. But she didn’t want me to stay.

  I went to our apartment. I studied my map. I got down the stairs partways. I kind of freezed up. I always go across the yard to the big house. Now I would be out on the street with peoples besides Miss Lizzy or Quincy. Boys, maybe.

  I tore upstairs. Got my coat and buttoned it up. I could go now.

  I got to the Brown Cow and, sure ’nuff, there was a ole beat-up car in the parking lot and Robert sitting in the front seat. He hung his arm out the window, and he had a knife. He tap the side of the door with the blade and watch me walk up to the doors. He didn’t say nothing, the man in the driver’s seat didn’t say nothing, but when I pull open the door to the Brown Cow, somebody tap the horn. I jump about a mile and turn around. Robert jab the knife out at me, then make like he slice it sideways. Nothing change in his face. He just kept staring with his eyes all tight and full of mean. Then they tore out the parking lot with the tires squealing.

  I went straight to the bathroom and threw up my little bit of breakfast.

  I studied Miss Lizzy’s map. I walked with my head down except when I had to see a turn. If I didn’t look at nobody, they couldn’t look at me. I got to the feed store. Nothing bad happened.

  There was a man at the counter. I hung back at the door, scaredy. But he wasn’t no boy. He had white hair. I wasn’t scaredy of mens as much as boys. I had to do this for Mama Duck. I took myself up to the counter.

  I asked the counter man if ducks eat dry corns. He smiled at me. But not mean or dirty. He say that ducks like corns plenty. I asked for a little sack. Enough to feed a Mama Duck. He made a chuckle, but it was nice. He went off a ways. He came back toting a paper bag.

  I pushed my money across the counter. “Is this enough money?”

  He looked how peoples do when they figure I’m “challenged.”

  But he didn’t make no fun. He smiled and said, “That’s one lucky Mama Duck.” He took my money. Rung it up on his cash register. Handed me money back. I turned to leave.

  “You be sure to come back and tell me about the baby ducks, you hear?”

  I didn’t know what to do. I waited, scaredy to hear something mean or bad. But he lifted his hand and made a little w
ave for me.

  I grabbed hold the door. I took me a deep breath and give a fast wave. I got out of there. I was OK to keep my head up all the way home.

  We been here a week when Ms. D. come by. She sit on our couch and axt how we been. Biddy up and tell Ms. D. ’bout how I’m cooking for Lizabeth first pop out the box. If I could have got my hands ’round her fat neck, I’d have choked her. Ms. D. don’t be needing to know our bidness.

  Ms. Delamino came by to visit our first weekend. She was real nice. I bragged on Quincy’s cooking. I swear, instead of pleased, Quincy got all sulled up. I told Ms. Delamino about Mama Duck. She asked to see. She thought it was fine that we had a Mama Duck in our garden. Ms. Delamino said she wanted to talk to Quincy alone. I stayed outside to sing to Mama Duck.

  Ms. D. come back in without Biddy and sit down. She smile. I figure she gonna tell me I shouldn’t be doing Biddy’s cooking for her or some such.

  “Well,” she say, looking pleased as punch. “This is working out just fine.”

  I give her my “Huh?” look.

  “Quincy, we didn’t put you and Biddy together just because you happened to graduate at the same time.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “We spend a lot of time deciding what two people have strengths and weakness that kind of, well, fit with each other.”

  Ms. D. must see in my face I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “How is this arrangement working out for you? If you are doing the cooking for Biddy, what does she do for you in return?”

  Ms. D. sat for a while. She wait and didn’t say no more. Shoot-a-goose!

  “She clean our apartment.”

  Ms. D. nod. “So, you are learning to cooperate?”

  I give her a look.

  Ms. D. smile this time. “Get along. Share the work.”

  “I guess so. But she still Biddy and I still Quincy.”

  “Quincy,” Ms. D. say, “you and Biddy won’t find it as easy as most people to live on your own. You’ll have to help each other.”

  “Well, I did help her. I am helpin’ her. Does that mean I win somethin’?”

  Ms. D.’s smile straighten out. “I hoped you wouldn’t keep score.”

  I follow her out and there’s Biddy singing the “Itsy-Bitsy Spider” song to her duck. I plumb weary of that song. I sure wish she knew more.

  Ms. Delamino tell us that she has both our paychecks. She’s taking us to the bank to help us open checking accounts. Then we going on a shopping spree. I don’t know exactly what that is. But I think we’re going to spend the money we made this week.

  The bank was all quiet and scaredy. Ms. Delamino done most of the doing and handed Quincy and me our checkbooks. I take my check. I put it in the bank. Then I get some spending money. Quincy or Ms. Delamino or even Miss Lizzy can help me with the check-writing part.

  Then we went off to a big store. I told Ms. Delamino and Quincy that I didn’t like those T-shirts that Granny bought me no more. I want to wear dresses, like a princess. But dresses that was OK to do my work in. Quincy said, “Halleluiah!” And, she sort of push me toward a row of dresses. They help me find three dresses they called jumpers. They was made of stuff like blue jeans. Then Quincy push me along to the place where there was pajamas and robes.

  “Get you some pj’s and a nightie and a robe and some slippers,” she said. She took off and Ms. Delamino helped me.

  When Quincy came back, she had a shopping bag in her hand, but she didn’t tell nobody what she bought.

  I was out of money now. Quincy bought her some new shoes to wear at the Brown Cow. Then Ms. Delamino took us out to have lunch at a real restaurant. I showed I learned to eat like a princess.

  We came back to our little house. Ms. Delamino said we done just fine our first week.

  Later that evening, I went in my room. Sitting on my bed was four night-lights and an alarm clock.

  Couple of weeks had gone by when Jen tapped me on my shoulder one day at work. I pulled back and give her a dirty look.

  “Sorry,” she say. “I just thought you’d like to take your break with me. We could talk.”

  I look over to Sandra. She nod. “It’s slow. Y’all go on.”

  I take off my apron and follow Jen to the break room. She get me a Coke and put it down in front of me. “We haven’t had a chance to get to know each other,” she say.

  I shrug. Ain’t nobody done this before. In school all anybody need to know is you in Special Ed.

  “You been here more than a while now, and Ellen and me don’t know anything but your name.” She make a twisty-looking face. “We think you don’t like us.”

  I push my straw up and down through the plastic cap and it make a squawky sound.

  Jen tap her fingers on the table. “What did we do to make you mad at us?”

  I didn’t know what to do. “You know stuff about me.” I didn’t look up. I kept on squawking my straw.

  Jen kind of sighed and pull her paper hat off her head and rub at the place where the elastic make a red mark in her forehead. “You’re right. I know that you do your work without complaining. I know that you are fast and neat and clean. And I know that you don’t talk much. And you don’t seem to like being touched.”

  I nodded. All that was right. “You left something out. You know I’m a Speddie. I know you got tole I was a special work program.”

  Jen’s face got the red creeps, so I know I done hammered the right nail.

  “You’re not exactly what I thought,” Jen say.

  I clonked my cup down. “Right. You ’spected somebody to come in here talking all weirdy — with they mouth all hanging loose and saying they words all ‘Duh, duh, duh’ kinda like. And you thought I’d look all stupid in my face, so you could just see that I was Special Ed by giving me the eyeball. And you thought, ‘Here we go, I’m gonna have tell her a hunert times how to do every little thing and pro’lly have to do it myself anyway — shoot-a-goose, she’s so dumb she cain’t even live on her own.’ ” I crost my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair. “That about right?”

  Jen rub that red crease in her forehead again. Then she smile. “That’s about right. I didn’t expect you to be so, well, normal.”

  “I ain’t normal. I got problems learning. That’s what Special Ed means. We all got some kind of dys. It don’t mean we need help remembering to breathe in and out.”

  “Some kind of what?”

  “We all got a dys. One kind of dys means you cain’t read. Biddy got that kind of dys. I cain’t say all the dys words ’cause they long. But I can say mine. Dysgraphia. That dys means I can read a word and know how to spell it, but when my hand goes to write it — it just don’t come out.” I lift up my chin. “I can write. It’s just hard and I’m slow at it.”

  “Can you do math?”

  I tighten my arms crost my chest and tried not to knock that woman plumb silly. She already silly enough. “Yes, I can add, and subtract and multiply and divide. Cain’t do much more than that, though. You need somebody to do more math than that back there sorting out the celery and the onions?”

  “Nope,” Jen say. “I was just hoping you could do math, because Ellen and me flunked math and if we don’t have a calculator, we’re kind of screwed.”

  I loosed up my arms a little bit. “I might could help you out,” I said. “And if it get busy, I could help you at the register, maybe.”

  “Mr. Dunne would have to approve, but it works for me,” Jen said. She started tucking her hair back under her paper hat.

  I get up and throw my cup in the trash. I want to make sure she understand. “Sometimes Speddies got to learn different ways. I live with another Speddie name Biddy, and you cain’t just tell her a bunch a stuff straight out. She don’t get it or remember it. But if you tell it to her like it’s a story — that girl don’t never forget.”

  Jen and me left the break room and walk back to work. “Biddy sounds interesting,” Jen say.

  “Sh
e real different from me,” I say. I didn’t say what I was thinking. I was thinking about Biddy and that Mama Duck. Difference between Biddy and me was . . . I didn’t know ’zactly how to think it, but it was kinda like I think about the outside of stuff and Biddy, she think about the inside.

  Mama Duck been doing good. She been eating corns. Drinking water. And taking good care of her eggs. She makes sure I don’t bother her eggs none. That means she’s a good Mama Duck.

  That boy Stephen, he don’t bother me. He say “Hey” when he see me. But he don’t try to give me no candy. He don’t try to get me alone in no dark places either. He just tend to his work. I tend to mine. I heard he and Miss Lizzy talk about me. He wondered what he done to scare me so much. That make me feel some kind of bad. But not bad enough to talk to him ’bout it. Quincy give him the evil eye when she see him. That Stephen boy, he kind of sull up around her too. I don’t think they will ever be friends together. That’s good. If Quincy gonna have a friend, it needs to be me.

  Miss Lizzy been fretty. And I think her inside ear is making her dizzier than ever. I had to keep her from tumping over two times. That makes her cranky.

  It makes me feel a little bit more easy around Miss Lizzy knowing she can be cranky sometimes. If somebody smiles all the day every day, you know that you ain’t the reason. Now when she smile at me, it’s kind of like I made a cat purr.

  Quincy been in a good enough mood. Except for once she came home from work and she looked scaredy. I never saw Quincy look scaredy before and it made me scaredy too. I asked her what was wrong.

  “Biddy, you ever see a ole beat-up-looking car hanging ’round here?”

  I told her I didn’t. She asked was I sure. Why Quincy afraid of an old car?

  Sometimes she’d sit on the little porch and watch the street. She must not saw nothing, because she get in a better mood every time she came in after watching.