The Axeman's Jazz

Sonnys of the world. That was when she felt contemptuous. She knew, of course, that she was actually the Martian; when that bothered her, she felt intimidated. At the moment, she merely admired them. Plato would have, she felt sure—would have known them for the ideal they were.
    There was only one thing wrong with this perfect picture—she’d met them in a twelve-step program, the first step being an admission that your life was out of control. Obviously they weren’t there to meet people; even if they hadn’t had each other, these two didn’t need mixers. Of course they were codependent—Missy noticeably so, and Sonny on the grounds that nearly everyone was, according to the experts. But the fact that they’d noticed it made them different from the usual run of perfect couples.
    She decided to come out with it. “You two look so well-adjusted—I was really amazed to see you in the meeting.”
    Missy shook her head, smiling a little wistfully. “I wonder what ‘well-adjusted’ is.”
    Sonny said, “Well-adjusted, hell. How about sane? Who do you know who’s even sane?”
    “You look sane as anything to me.”
    Missy rested an elbow on his shoulder. “Oh, he is. You wouldn’t believe how sane he is, and I don’t know what on earth I’d do without him.”
    He gave her an uncomprehending look—one of those unbelieving looks half a couple gives when the other half has just said something along the lines of the earth being flat. “Well, what the hell do you drag me to those meetings for?”
    “Honey, you might have a little bitty problem or two, but that doesn’t mean you’re not sane—one of us has to be.”
    Sonny gave Skip a self-deprecating smile, showing teeth Paul Newman might have envied. “Well, I guess you know the country song: ‘I’ve always been crazy, but it’s kept me from goin’ insane.’ “ He spoke in a drawl that had probably caused death by melting in more than one sorority house.
    But Skip failed to melt, in fact hardly noticed. Her mind was on something Missy had said, something she couldn’t put her finger on….
    “Sonny, Skip’s going to think you actually listen to that or stuff.”
    She had it—the italics, the easy endearments, the slightly-too-niceness that sometimes seemed like bossiness. It wasn’t New Orleans, it was the trademark of every girl at Ole Miss. She said, “Missy! I just caught your accent. You’re from Mississippi, aren’t you?”
    “Now, how’d you do that? I thought I talked like everybody else.”
    “I went to Ole Miss for a little while. Where are you from?”
    “Hattiesburg. Near Hattiesburg, I mean. In the sticks, really. I went to Ole Miss too.”
    “Not LSU? I figured both of you did and you met at a pep rally.”
    “Gosh, no. We met right here. We’ve only been together a year.”
    She turned her warm, loving gaze on Sonny, only to find him staring into space, eyes glazed. Skip brought him out of it. “Sonny, do you come from a medical family?”
    “My dad’s a doctor and my grandfather before him and my uncle, and I think my great-grandfather was one too. Anyway, as you can guess, there wasn’t much choice about it.” Skip thought he spoke ruefully.
    “You’re not enjoying med school?”
    “Oh, med school’s fine. Grades are what the problem is.”
    “Oh, Sonny! You’re doing great and you know it.”
    He pointed a playful thumb at her. “My coach says I’m doing great.”
    When they asked what she did, she gave them the civil-service routine that she hoped made her sound like a postal cleric and said she hadn’t made many friends at work.
    Missy covered Skip’s hand with hers. “You’re gon’ just love Coda! There’s so many nice people in there.”
    “There certainly seem to be. Di seems very nice—the one in charge of the meeting last night.”
    “Oh, she’s a peach.”
    “Do you know her very well?”
    “I don’t think Sonny does, ’cause he doesn’t always go to coffee and I usually do. But I think she’s a doll—she’s my sponsor. Goin’ to coffee’s the whole key, Skip. That’s how you really get to know people.”
    “I knew a man who used to go—named Tom. Did either of you know him?”
    Missy shook her head, but Sonny seemed to have drifted off again. He was preoccupied perhaps, or a little depressed.
    Or maybe he just resents having me horn in.

FOURTEEN
    “MARGARET! MARGRIIIIIIT!”
    Only one person called her Margaret and only one person stood outside her door and yelled