Free Ask Anybody by Constance C. Greene

eyeballs jangle, they’re so bitter.” When it comes to one-upmanship with the weather, I’m a pro. Maine people like to talk about the weather. We figure as long as we’re stuck with it, we might as well turn it into something to brag about—its awfulness, its severity. “I’ve seen storms,” I told Nell, “where it hails and snows, thunders and lightnings all at the same time.”
    â€œAll mothers are soft on boys.” Nell ignored the weather and took up where she’d left off. “They just naturally take to sons more’n daughters.” Her face was pinched and blue, and she stamped her feet in their raggedy sneakers to keep the blood going.
    â€œMy mother doesn’t,” I repeated.
    â€œHow would you know? She’s never around for you to find out.” When Nell was mean, her nose and chin got very pointed, almost like a witch’s, and her eyes glittered in a special way.
    â€œThat’s mean and it’s not true,” I said, trying to keep my voice under control. “I’d say you got out the wrong side of the bed this morning.” I turned my back on her. I didn’t have to listen to that guff.
    â€œWhen I grow up”—Nell’s voice changed, became soft and almost dreamy—“I’m not having any kids. You won’t catch me being a mother. No siree.”
    She had a way of saying something outlandish one minute, something meant to shock or offend; then next minute she’d switch and say something to pull you back, almost like a fisherman with a fish on his line. Reel it out, let it struggle, try to work free, then deliberately reel it back in when it was almost gone. I turned halfway back to her, trying to see her face. She had pulled up her coat collar, and it shielded her face from me.
    â€œWhy not?” I had to ask.
    â€œWho wants to be tied down?” she said in her old, fierce way. “You get yourself a mess of kids, you’re saddled for life. Can’t have any fun, always broke from buying shoes and medicine. Then they have the bellyache and keep you up all night, plus you have to take ’em to the doctor for shots and all, and that costs plenty. Kids are more trouble than they’re worth, my ma says. She looks straight at me when she says it, too. There’s lots of females in this world should never have kids.” She fixed me with an icy stare.
    â€œI suppose,” I said, wanting her to continue, not sure of what she said.
    â€œMy ma never shoulda had us,” she burst out. “She’s sorry she did. ’Specially me. Said we were a mistake. All four of us. I told her if that was so, she shoulda learned from her first mistake and not gone on to make three more.” We sat there and looked at each other, not talking.
    â€œThen you know what she did?” Nell’s eyes were enormous. I shook my head, not sure I wanted to know.
    â€œShe slapped me. In the face. Just plain up and slapped me.” The lavender circles under Nell’s eyes deepened in color.
    â€œIf she wasn’t tied down with us kids, she said, she’d be famous,” Nell went on.
    â€œDoing what?” I asked, sorry at last for Nell I couldn’t imagine my mother not wanting me.
    â€œShe always wanted to be a singer. Like Loretta Lynn or Dolly Parton. One of those. You know. Get on the television, that’s what she said she’d do. She used to sing with a band. She was real good too.” The color came into Nell’s face as she got going with her story. Her feet moved as if she were dancing, there in the muddy road.
    â€œMy ma’s built exactly like Dolly Parton, you know. And her hair’s the exact same color. From the back you couldn’t tell ’em apart. You oughta hear her sing.” Nell rolled her eyes. “If I put a blindfold on you, I bet you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between her and Dolly.” She gave me a