Nobody's Fool

Beryl, who suspected the little girl might literally be blind in the wandering eye. Perhaps she was blind in both, Miss Beryl considered, there was so little recognition or expression in either. The way she sat there, so still, gently massaging her mother’s earlobe, as if she could only ascertain her mother’s presence by touch, she might have been both blind and deaf.
    â€œAnyhow,” the young woman continued, “I’m sorry about the other day. I was just pissed at the world. You ever have days where you don’t know whether to shit or go blind?”
    Miss Beryl chose to ignore this question, guessing that it must be rhetorical.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Miss Beryl said, looking first at the girl, then at her mother. “I assume ‘Birdbrain’ is a term of endearment?”
    â€œIt’s a perfect description, is what it is,” the young woman said matter-of-factly, cocking her head just slightly to wink up at her daughter. “Tina’s her real name, isn’t it, Birdbrain? Tiny Tina Two Shoes.”
    Tina kept after the earlobe. Otherwise, nothing.
    â€œWe’ve been doing this ever since we finally stopped breastfeeding, haven’t we,” the young woman explained. “I hope it don’t go on too much longer, either. It’s like wearing a forty-pound, vibrating earring.”
    Miss Beryl focused on the little girl’s good eye and addressed the child slowly. “Would you like a
cookie
, Tina?”
    â€œShe’d probably eat about twelve if we were home. I doubt she’d eat one of yours, though.”
    The little girl was silent.
    â€œShe’s not much of a talker, as you probably guessed. Some days there’s just nobody home, is there, Birdbrain?”
    Miss Beryl rose, too angry with the young woman to stay in the room. “Let’s see about a cookie anyway. I had a houseguest last night who ate a whole plateful, so I know they’re good.”
    In the kitchen Miss Beryl could hear the little girl’s mother, her voice lowered only slightly, talking to the little girl. “This here is some place, huh, Birdbrain? You ever see so much shit in one place? It’s kind of like that museum I took you to in Albany, isn’t it? Look at that big old Victrola over there. Music used to play out of that. How about that guy on the wall with the horns and the beak?”
    There was a pause. Had the little girl spoken?
    â€œYou remember the big museum? Remember how we saw the Indians? How they all sat around the fire? You remember the fire? That was your favorite. Remember the big dinosaur? All those bones standing up so tall?”
    â€œDear God,” Miss Beryl whispered to herself in much the same fashion as she had that morning when she saw old Hattie heading up Main into the wind, her housecoat billowing out behind her. What a crazy thing life was. Returning to the living room with the plate of cookies, she set them on the coffee table. Neither of the child’s eyes located them.
    The young woman took one. “Sometimes if I go first,” she explained, taking a bite, chewing and finally swallowing thoughtfully. “Some guy ate a whole plate of these?” Incredulity.
    â€œA woman,” Miss Beryl said. “I’m sorry you don’t like them.”
    â€œNo, they’re okay,” the young woman said. “I’d puke if I ate a whole plateful of them, though.”
    â€œNow there’s an expression I haven’t heard in about twenty years,” Miss Beryl said.
    The young woman grinned mischievously. “Yeah, I remember you weren’t too fond of it.” Then, “You don’t remember me at all, do you.”
    In fact, now that she thought about it, the young woman did look vaguely familiar to Miss Beryl. But so did nearly everyone in Bath between the ages of twenty and sixty, which represented the span of her tenure as the eighth-grade English teacher.
    â€œDon’t worry, I looked like a boy then,” the girl explained. “These came in ninth grade,” she added, indicating her enormous breasts with her two index fingers.
    â€œDonnelly,” Miss Beryl said, the girl’s family name taxiing back to her suddenly. “I also attempted to teach your father, Zachary. I see the resemblance now.”
    Janey Donnelly’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure.”
    Miss Beryl was reasonably sure. Having taught several generations of