The Misses Foo & Cockerill

Miss Cockerill

Miss Foo stood on the front lawn of town hall and stared up at the big bell that hung in the cupola.

As she watched it tolled, swinging heavily from side to side, singing out richly once, twice, three times.

Oh yes, thought Miss Foo. That will work.

That will work perfectly.

Miss Cockerill sat so still that she could have been a wax statue if it weren't for the fact that every so often she sniffed. Her ankles were crossed under the table and her head buried in her hands.

What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing Eli repeated over and over in his head as he sat at the table without a word.

For some minutes they both sat silently, lost in their own thoughts, Eli finally clearing out the last vestiges of chaos tangles from his mind and body.

"What's the matter?" he asked finally.

Miss Cockerill jumped as though she hadn't noticed Eli.

"Thinking," she said.

"About what?" asked Eli, wondering what thoughts could possibly be swirling around the inside of the daft woman's head, and if she had managed to catch any of them.

"I don't remember. You broke my bus of thought."

"You mean train of thought?"

"No. What's a train of thought?"

"Nevermind."

Miss Cockerill sniffed. "We were having fun. Why did she do that? Do you know why she did that?" For the first time since they had gotten married, Miss Cockerill turned her head and looked directly in Eli's eyes. Eli was shocked; Miss Cockerill's eyes weren't completely vacant. They were wide and doe-like, true, and beautiful, Eli supposed. But that didn't surprise him; he had known that all along. But there was something there, deep at the back, behind the painted lashes and shadowed lids and behind even the clueless, questioning look itself. True, it might not have been intelligence, or even what could be truly called thought, but something that Eli decided was emotion. All at once, Eli saw Miss Cockerill in a whole new light. He wondered what her childhood had been like. Her parents. What had caused her to become the way she had? Eli wouldn't hit a puppy for peeing on the carpet; it wasn't the puppy's fault, it didn't know any better (he vaguely remembered saying this about someone before, but he couldn't remember who). He didn't excuse Miss Cockerill for her terrible actions, but he forgave her for them.

"Why?" Miss Cockerill repeated.

It wasn't difficult for Eli to figure out exactly who and what Miss Cockerill was asking about. He had asked himself the same question. Why did she enjoy torturing him? Why did she love commotion and chaos? Why did Miss Foo enjoy just simply being evil?

"I don't know," he replied. "I wonder the same thing." Eli paused. Then he said delicately, "But you know that we were not having fun, right?"

"Not having fun? What do you mean? You don't like ironing my dresses and cleaning the phones?"

"No," Eli said simply. "I don't. No kid does. I just want to go home."

"Home? This is home."

"This is your home, Miss Cockerill, not mine. My home has my sister and my parents and my own bed and no chains. There are no locks in your own home, at least that's what my dad told me."

Miss Cockerill chewed on the end of her hair.

"But how do you keep people from running away?"

"You don't. They stay because they want to stay. Because they like it there and they love their family and their family loves them. And if they really want to leave, if they really do, you let them."

"That doesn't make sense to me. Besides, Miss Foo says that you have to keep people locked up or they do all sorts of nasty things. Like touching your makeup." Miss Cockerill shivered.

"Miss Foo is wrong."

"Miss Foo is never wrong! Tee-hee..."

"Stop it," Eli demanded. "Don't you dare!" he warned. He knew suddenly that Miss Cockerill's outbursts were nothing more than the temper tantrums of a spoiled child. Eli would no longer stand for them. And indeed, with his firm words, Miss Cockerill quieted and actually appeared to be ashamed. "You aren't locked up," Eli continued. "You are free to leave. Or free to stay. Why do you stay?"

"This is my home."

"But not mine."

Then, without knowing why he did it, Eli laid his hand over the back of Miss Cockerill's. It was warm and soft, which shocked him. For some reason he had expected it to be cold and hard like a stone.

"Let me go home, Miss Cockerill."

"I can't. I need you."

"For what?"

"I need you. You're my husband. How would I be able to catch another husband? And the costume ball is so close! Do you know how hard I had to work to catch you?"

"Have you tried inviting someone?" Eli asked.

"Inviting someone? No, why?" Miss Cockerill asked. "Did you know that when I was trying to catch you, I had to throw out two dresses because they got stains on them!" Eli pulled his hand away. "Besides, even if I did let you go home, Foo would never permit it."

Eli didn't know what to do. He had never before met a woman as confused as Miss Cockerill. It seemed that she had everything backwards and upside down. Eli knew that a husband wasn't something you catch. It was something that you earned, that came to you willingly because he loved you and couldn't stand to be apart from you. And he wasn't sure exactly why, but Eli had a vague urge to help Miss Cockerill understand.

He was beginning to see the woman in a whole new way. She was almost a child. In many ways she was even more of a child than Eli was.

But he couldn't shake the feelings of disgust and revulsion when he thought about cleaning the telephone, and his cage, and especially how Miss Cockerill had complained about her stained dresses. His disgust finally overcame his sympathy; yes, he wanted to get as far away as he could from the shallow woman. Everything else could wait. He wasn't scared anymore.

"I'm going home," Eli said finally.

"You can't," whimpered Miss Cockerill as Eli stood up. "You can't!" she cried as he walked out the door. But Eli wasn't listening; he could, and he would.

And he did. Confidently he walked to the backdoor, turned the knob, and stepped outside.

The road remained purple and there was still a boy's shadow dancing around the lawn. Officer Steve had gone home and, after a long bath, managed to shake the idea that he was a squirrel, though for a long time after he had a craving for acorns.

Eli leapt down from the stoop and strode across the lawn, past the boy's shadow, dodging a small cloud of wispy Chaos. Half expecting to see Miss Foo chasing him, waving her walking stick, heavy feet thudding across the grass, Eli turned around. He wasn't afraid of Miss Cockerill. And he wasn't afraid of Miss Foo anymore either.

But there was no one there; no one was chasing him. The door was still open where he walked out and the crumbling, rotting wood of the Manor almost looked pitiful in the warm afternoon sunlight. Eli wondered what he had ever been scared of at all.

That's when he saw something that made him more scared than he had ever been in his life.