"The Day My Sister Shot The Mailman And Got Away With It, Of Course"

After my big sister, Zoë, shot Baker Turnbull, our mailman, Mama grounded her for twenty-four hours, which didn't seem like much of a punishment to me since it was assault with a semi-deadly weapon, but Zoë was put out because it made her miss the big dance at the Grange Hall in Celina. She said she didn't care except that she was eighteen and shouldn't be getting grounded at all, even if she did still live at home. Zoë says the key to life is not caring about much and not being ashamed of anything, but you have to be Zoë to pull that off. And in case you're wondering, Baker is fine now, although he is on another route and considerably quieter these days.

I was real surprised Zoë got grounded at all because she always gets away with pure blue murder around here which Lord knows I never do, even though I am just three years younger than she is which is practically twins. My dad just laughed when he heard about it and went back to watching the game, but Mama said Zoë crossed the line when she picked up that gun. (That's when I said, “Guns don't hurt mailmen, people hurt mailmen,” which would have gotten a big laugh if Zoë had said it, but all Mama said was, “Quinn McKenzie, do you want grounded, too?” And I ask you, is it fair that Zoë shoots somebody, and I mouth off, and we get the same punishment? No, it is not.) Mama said that Baker was a truly terrible mail carrier, but shooting him was not the kind of behavior she wanted her daughters associated with, which is another thing that makes me mad because she'd never said anything about not shooting people before, probably because she figured Zoë and I would have the brains not to, and now we're absolutely not allowed to, and of course Zoë got to, and now I can't. Not that I'd want to. It's the principle of the thing.

I do not want you to get the idea that I'm jealous of Zoë because I'm not. My mama says some people are oil paintings and some people are watercolors, and they're both perfectly fine, and I could handle being a watercolor, but Zoë's decided she's neon, and it's damn hard to see me next to her. I don't mean for other people, I mean for me. It's like that mailman thing I said and got yelled at for, which is exactly what Zoë would have said, and the only thing I can figure out that's different in the way we say it is that I'm trying to be something when I say stuff like that and Zoë just is when she says it, and there's nothing you can do about that. But I figured it wouldn't be so noticeable if she wasn't standing next to me all the time, so I was hoping things would get better when she married Nick and moved out.

That's the reason I decided to help Baker, because of Nick going to boot camp. He was Zoë's boyfriend, and they were really going places, mostly our back porch after dark, and I was pretty sure they'd get married and that would have given me some room because Zoë would have been staying home nights someplace else besides where I am. But then Nick decided he wanted to be a Marine and joined up, and Zoë told him that she wasn't waiting six weeks for anybody, let alone somebody who was dumb enough to enlist in the Marines without asking her first and then come around afterwards expecting to be congratulated for being a moron. Nick tried to tell her he was doing it for her so they could get married faster, and she threw one hellacious fit and said, “Do I look like somebody who wants to get married, Nick Ziegler, do I? Do I? ” And of course, that's exactly what she looked like to Nick, but that's not what she looked like to Zoë, and it's what Zoë thinks that counts, so Nick left for boot camp a real mess because he thought he'd lost her.

I thought so, too. That's how I ended up talking to Baker which was a big mistake although I do not regret it because Zoë says that regrets are for people who don't understand life. The thing was, I still had some years left being only fifteen, but if Zoë was going to hang on and be one of those late marriers, I could see those years going fast. So I thought all I had to do was get somebody else to love Zoë, which wouldn't be hard, and marry her, which would be harder, and she'd move out and then I'd be able to figure out who I was without Zoë getting in my eyes all the time. Which is how I noticed Baker, carrying our mail one afternoon.

Baker was not a bad catch, being a civil servant, and not bad looking at all, being an ex-fullback for Tibbett High. He had no neck to speak of, but his face was pretty good and his nose hadn't even been broken once, which Zoë says tells you something about how much use he was on the field, but I still thought he had potential. He was old, of course, close to thirty, but I thought Zoë'd like that, dating an older man and making people say, “That Zoë” and shake their heads and smile. I didn't know much about Baker, but I figured as a government employee he must have something going for him because the civil service exam doesn't mean scoot in Tibbett without somebody pulling for you, so somebody had liked Baker enough to give him those blue shorts, and that's more of a recommendation than most of Zoë's dates come with, let me tell you. I mean, Nick was pumping gas for his dad when he left for the Marines and half the time all he wanted to do was sit on the couch and watch TV and the other half he wanted to sit on the back porch with Zoé and do God knows what, and neither one was enough to hold Zoë, even if he was a sweetie and even if she was fairly enthusiastic about the back porch part. “I need somebody with flair,” she told him once, “and you do not have it.” He must have had something because she dated him for six months without going out on him more than once or twice, but once he was gone, he was history, and he knew it, and I knew it, so I had to do something.

So when Nick left, and Baker handed me the mail one day and said, “How's that pretty Zoë?”, I looked him over and saw potential and said, “Pretty lonely now that her ex-boyfriend's in the Marines,” and I watched his little brown eyes light up and thought, Good job, Quinn. I swear on my mother's grave when she eventually has one, I did not know he was crazier than a bed bug when I said that. His delivery of the mail had been one hundred per cent without incident up until then, so I had no idea.

Baker came around that night and asked Zoë out on the porch and then he asked her out on a date, and Zoë wanted to see the new James Bond movie so she said, “Yes.” When she got home that night, I was hoping that she'd say, “This is the one,” but she said, “I can't believe what a jackass that man is, he didn't shut up all night long, and all he did the whole time was tell me what a catch he was.” And I thought, Well, Baker, we have some work to do.

So the next day when he came by with the mail, I said, “Baker, next time you go out with my sister, talk about her not you.” I know that wasn't polite, but I didn't think Baker would get it if I didn't lay it out for him. He came back that night and asked Zoë out on the front porch, and she came but she said she could only stay until nine because Moonlighting came on then.   He said, “I'll come in and watch it with you, Zoë, honey,” and she said, “No, you will not.” They sat on the swing and I listened, and that fool told her all the reasons they should go out and they were all about him again. I guess Baker thought that if the word “Zoë” was in the sentence, that counted as being about her.

It wouldn't have been nearly so bad, but Baker had delivered his own death sentence that day when he'd handed Zoë a letter from Nick.

Zoë damn near fell on the floor when she saw it because, before boot camp, Nick couldn't even make a phone call without getting bored, and this was a long letter, and it was all about her, what she looked like and smelled like and how much he missed her. I think there were some parts where he talked about what she felt like, too, but she didn't show me those. “Some of this is private, Quinn,” she said, but she showed me the other stuff, and I have to say, it made me think twice about Nick. Any guy who'll write a twelve page letter deserves another look, and I started to feel bad that I'd egged Baker on.

So when he came to the door the next day and said, “What did I do wrong?” I said, “Give it up, Baker, she's in love with a marine who writes really good letters.”

“Are you telling me,” Baker said, “that she'd rather have some damn letters than me sitting next to her?”

“That's what I'm telling you,” I said.

“You know what Zoë's problem is?” he said, which made me a little mad.

“I believe that would be you, Baker,” I said, but he didn't listen, being all caught up in his own mind again.

“Zoë thinks she's special,” Baker said. “And she's not. She's awful sweet and pretty but she's not special.”

That's when I knew Baker was dumber than snot because he had it completely backwards. Zoë is the last thing next to sweet, but any fool could see she's special, and there's old Baker trying to make her something he could understand, which he never could.

I said, “Give it up, Baker, you're history,” and took the mail and closed the door, but of course, he didn't give it up.

It was shortly after that when Baker started opening the letters from Nick, probably trying to figure out what Nick was putting on paper that was better than what Baker was doing in real life.    And he must have thought Nick's letters were pretty stupid because about a week after Zoë kicked him off the porch and refused to ever go out with him again, he started reading the letters out loud. Real loud.

He stood on our steps, grinning like a fool, and yelled, “Dear Zoë,” and I stopped in the doorway where I'd gone to get the mail, and I must have looked like a fool, too, because I just stood there with my mouth open, not believing what I was hearing. He started off with Nick's usual stuff about how much he missed the way the back of her neck smelled, and it sounded sweet when you read it on paper but it sounded pretty stupid when Baker bellowed it which was probably his plan, and then Zoë came downstairs and said, “What is that godawful racket?” and I knew there was going to be bloodshed, and it was at least partly my fault.

Baker stopped reading when he saw Zoë through the open doorway, and began to shout his own stuff instead. “Fine goings on,” he bellowed. “Good girls wouldn't get letters like this, and Miss Zoë McKenzie shouldn't either, and I am just shocked that she is, even though she goes around looking so sweet and pretty and all.”

Zoë said, “Jesus wept, that fool has gone completely round the bend.”

Baker went back to the letter and started to read louder since he had his prime audience now. He yelled, “I miss you like hell and can't wait until we're together again. All I do is think about you in that white underwear with the red hearts that you know drives me crazy. Wear it next Saturday so I can think about you in it all day long and then think about you out of it all night long.”

He would have read more, but Zoë stomped out on the front porch and down the steps, and she grabbed the letter out of his hand, and said, “Baker Turnbull, I am calling the Postmaster General because you have just broken the goddamned law.”

Baker stood there, looking goofier than any human being had a right to and still reproduce, which God knows Baker never will, what with the way he has with women. He grinned at Zoë like she was so cute when she was mad, which let me tell you she isn't. She's got a look that can peel paint, but it didn't have any effect on Baker, him being ninety-nine per cent dumb as a rock.

“You should be ashamed, Zoë,” Baker said, sort of soft-voiced. “Getting letters like this is what should be illegal. In fact, I think it is because it's pornography and you can't get that through the mail.   I should just turn you in, but I'm not going to, honey, because I want to save you. How about I pick you up at eight?”

Zoë said, “Baker, you are dumbass pond scum,” and marched back inside and slammed the door, and Baker just stood there, his grin gone and this terrible hurt look on his face.

I wanted to go out and tell him that if he wanted to get Zoë, trying to humiliate her was not the way, but I'd already done enough coaching and look where that had got us, so I stayed put, and Baker kind of slumped down the steps, which made me feel sorry for him all over again because he was trying the best he knew how, and he still wasn't getting Zoë. I knew all about that. I mean, sometimes I watch her walk down the street, and the heads turn, and I can't see it, whatever it is that Zoë's got, but I know it's there, and it's not beauty because she and I look a lot alike, so it's something else, and whatever it is, Baker wanted it and so did I. Not in the same way, of course. But I did understand how he felt.

Zoë didn't, she just wanted him dead. “Quinn, we have to turn him in,” she said when I got back inside.

I looked out into the street and saw Mrs. Mueller talking to Mrs. Papacjik which she does everyday anyway while she waits for the mail, but you know what they were talking about that day. I knew if Zoë didn't stop Baker soon, it was only a matter of time before the news percolated down to Mama, and there would go Zoë's chances of ever finding heaven on the back porch with Nick again, let alone my chances of getting her married and gone.

So I didn't try to stop her when she called the post office, but it didn't do her any good. This was Tibbett after all, and Baker had been carrying the mail for over six years without a complaint. They promised to look into it, but I could tell from the look in my sister's eyes when she got off the phone that looking into it was not going to be enough.

Zoë said, “Quinn, those damn fools aren't going to do a damn thing, and I've got no way to call Nick and stop him from sending me those letters because they won't let them get phone calls.”

I said, “Call them and tell them somebody died,” and she said, “I can't, they check stuff like that, I'd have to really kill somebody to make that work.”

If you ask me, that's where she got the idea to shoot Baker. She does listen to me, you know. She doesn't think I'm dumb or anything.

She didn't say anything to me about what she was going to do, and the next day, close to mail time, I came downstairs to see if Baker was going to act right or not, and there she was with our old shotgun under her arm.

I said, “Zoë, tell me you are not going to kill Baker Turnbull,” and she said, “Quinn, I am not going to kill Baker Turnbull.”

But she had that look in her eye, so I said, “Give me the gun, Zoë,” and she said, “Quinn, that man has tried to make me small. He has read my life on the steps of my house, and he thinks that is the funniest thing in the world.”

I moved in front of the door because if Baker got shot I'd be partly responsible, and I didn't want that on my conscience. I said, “Zoë, you do not want to do this. ou have always told me that it doesn't matter what other people think as long as you know who you are, and you know who you are better than anybody else I know, so what difference does Baker Turnbull make?”

She said, “You don't get it, Quinn.”

I said, “I am trying to get it, Zoë, I have been trying most of my life, but I do not see how shooting Baker will make you a better person. Explain that to me.”

She looked kind of surprised at that, and stopped and thought for a minute, like she'd never had to explain anything before, even to herself, and then she said, “I know who I am, and Baker can read those damn letters until his mouth gets numb and I'm still not going to feel small and stupid and cheap the way he wants me to, but he's got to know who he's dealing with here. I am Zoë McKenzie, and I do not put up with men trying to make me feel small, even if they are bat-shit civil servants, so he has to go down for it, and I am the one who has to put him there.” Then she looked me square in the eye and said, “Now are you with him or with me?”

And the thing is, I was really with Baker because just by living Zoë makes me feel small, although I wouldn't have put it like that before she said it. I mean, I knew just how Baker felt, wanting to get Zoë down to his size so he could get to her. But I understood what Zoë meant, too. She really did have to stop him, and I really wanted her to, because if Zoë got small, where would I be?

So I said, “With you, of course,” and then Baker walked up our front steps, and while we watched the son of a bitch tore open a letter and screamed, “Dear Zoë, I dreamed about you naked on your back porch again last night, and I'm going to go blind if I don't see you soon.”

I thought, Baker, you are dumb ass pond scum , and I said, “Shoot him,” and Zoë went out on the porch and said, “Baker, you have just violated your last piece of U.S. mail.”

Baker's eyes got wide when he saw the gun, but he said, “Zoë McKenzie, you wouldn't shoot a person, I know you better than that, honey.”

Zoë said, “I have loaded this gun with salt pellets, Baker, and as far as I am concerned, you are not a person, you are a mouth with legs and you better use them because I'm not putting up with this shit any more.”

I think that's when Baker saw the real Zoë instead of the sweet, pretty thing he'd been going for because he turned and ran, and Zoë yelled, “ Dance, gringo ,” and opened fire. She caught him right below the mail bag, across the backs of his legs. She has a good eye, my sister, and a steady hand, and I was proud of her at that moment, I truly was, even though I did feel sorry for Baker.

Baker's screams were awful, and Mrs. Papacjik came out to look, but he was gone by then, at least one street away because he was moving at a pretty good clip. I thought Baker might prosecute, but Zoë said he wouldn't dare because he'd lose his job if everybody found out he'd been opening the mail, and she was right, he didn't. He just asked for a route change, and now we have Mr. Fisher, who is not as obnoxious as Baker but not as interesting, either. He does tend to look kind of uneasy when he delivers the mail, and once I came to the door and he jumped a foot, so I suppose Baker talked, but I don't care. Like Zoë says, I know who we are, so it doesn't matter.

Zoe told Mama about Baker reading the letters, and I think that's why Mama only grounded her for twenty-four hours because she likes Nick and never had much time for Baker anyway. And Nick is coming home in two weeks in uniform, and Zoë says she'll wait that long and see if he's as good as his letters, so I'm hoping that maybe she'll get married after all.

But I can tell you this, any pond scum who tries to make me small is going down for it, even if Mama says we're not allowed to shoot anybody again. I don't know who I am, but I know I'm not small.

Except when I'm next to Zoë.

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