Freddie Owens - Then Like the Blind Man - Orbie's Story

The man who’d been trying to straighten the blinds came out wearing a gray ball cap with a red winged horse on the front. He wasn’t a very tall man, but he was built stocky and square with orange sideburns and hair and an orange sunshiny face. He stepped up to Victor, smiling, wiping his hands on a blue rag. Victor said something to the man; then he frowned and made a gesture toward the car.

The Orange Man nodded and grinned and wiped his hands. Then he came over and raised the hood. It went straight up in front of the window, blocking my view. I crawled over the seat and opened the door on Momma’s side, got out and slammed it shut. Right away the Orange Man bumped into me. I went five fingers flat into a pool of oil. The oil was warm with purple and yellow wavy lines.

“Uh oh, son!” The Orange Man said. “I didn’t see you there.” He had a warm friendly voice. He reached down a hand with freckles and hair, pulled me up and set me safely on my feet. His face had a million freckles. He wiped my hand with the blue rag. “You okay kiddo?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I ain’t hurt or anything. Where’d you get that horse at Mister?”

The Orange Man smiled. “What horse?”

“That one!” I pointed up at his ball cap.

He took it off, looked at the winged horse on the front and pretended to frown. “Well. This is a Mobil horse. It’s on all our signs. We sell Mobil Gas here. See that.” He pointed out the word Mobilgas sown in black thread under the winged horse. I liked the way he smiled, all warm and sunshiny-like. I could feel myself smiling back. He popped the ball cap back on his head. “You ever pump gasoline son?”

“No.” I looked at the gas pumps; guards standing there, not saying a word. “I ain’t big enough. My stepdaddy says I’m a runt.”

“Well, you are pretty small.”

“I’m nine years old.”

“Nine?”

“Yeah.”

“Well you better come on with me then,” the Orange Man said.

“Orbie! Get back in the car!” Victor was still up at the front, but standing to one side now. He barked at me, “Let the man do his job!”

I could feel my heart start to pound. The Orange Man smiled. “He’s all right, sir.”

“Go on!” Victor said. “Get back in there! Get out of the way!”

The Orange Man held onto my shoulder. “He’s all right, sir. It’s my fault. I was just going to show him how to pump gas.”

Victor didn’t even look at the Orange Man. He pointed at me and he pointed to the car. “Get in there I said!”

I looked up at the Orange Man. The smile was gone from his face. “Maybe next time, son,” he said. He stepped to the door and opened it for me. I climbed in, my heart falling down a hole in the middle of my chest. The wings on the Orange Man’s ball cap flew out toward Victor. “He’s okay now.”

“Mind your own business,” Victor said.

The Orange Man stood with his mouth open.

Victor took his glasses off and started wiping them with his handkerchief. He turned and walked back to where he was before, the hood of the Ford blocking him from view. The Orange Man looked in through the open window. “We’ll get that gas another time son. Here.” He took off his ball cap and handed it through the window. “Go on, take it. For good luck.” I took it but then I looked away, ashamed of Victor; ashamed that I had to have a stepdaddy like him.

“Look there on the inside,” the Orange Man said. There were letters stitched in blue on the inside of the cap just above the hem, a letter J and a letter C. “Stands for Jim Conlin. That’s me. Friends call me J C.” The Orange Man smiled his sunshiny smile.

“I said to mind your own business!” It was Victor again; he’d walked back around. “Or are you hard of hearing?”

“No sir,” the Orange Man said. “I can hear just fine. Always have.”

“Okay then. I’ll take care of the boy, you take care of the gas.”

“Of course sir,” the Orange Man said. “I was just about to do that.” He went off then to pump the gas. I could hear him get the nozzle in and turn the handle. The gas hummed in the tank. When he finished with the gas, he went around to the front and closed the hood. Victor stood out there again like the boss of the world, looking around at everything, checking things, wiping his glasses, frowning at the gas pumps.

I ran my hand over the gray bill of the ball cap and studied the winged horse. I looked at the blue letters on the inside. I thought how if I had a horse with wings I could fly away to Florida all by myself, be up in the sky with the seagulls and the pelicans, looking down on all the blues and the whites and the greens and the pinks. It wouldn’t be anybody’s business either, not Momma’s, not Victor’s. It would be mine.

“Where’s Victor?” Momma said.

“I don’t know Momma. He was up there.” I pointed to the front where Victor had been standing.

Momma got her Bible down. “Gone off to the toilet, I reckon. Did you see him go off to the toilet?”

“No Momma.”

She took a puff off a cigarette and opened the Bible. It was hot outside. I sat back on the back seat away from her; afraid she might start in on Jesus.

“Hey there, son.” It was the Orange Man again at the back window. He handed in two Coca Colas. “Thought you kids might enjoy these.” I gave one of the Coca Colas to Missy and kept the other for myself.

“Awful hot out today,” the Orange Man said.

Momma looked around from the front seat and smiled. She mashed her cigarette in the ashtray. “That’s real nice of you, Mister. Orbie. Missy. Say thank you to the man.”

“Thanks Mister,” I said.

Missy just stared.

I showed Momma the gray ball cap. “He gave me this Momma. Look on the inside there. See the letters. People call him that.”

“I’m sorry to say, but it’s true,” the Orange Man smiled.

“J C,” Momma said. “I like that. Just like our Lord.”

The Orange Man laughed. “Hardly Ma’am. I get a fair amount of teasing about that.”

“If it was me, I’d be proud.” Momma said.

“I’ll try and remember that Ma’am.”

“Ruby,” Momma said. “My name is Ruby.”

“Ruby.” The Orange Man smiled, his hair all shiny orange in the sunlight. He looked at me, then at Missy. Then back at Momma. “I better get back to work. Real nice to meet you Ruby. You and your kids.” He winked at me and went off toward the office.

“Real nice feller,” Momma said.

“Uh huh,” I said.

Missy had stood up. She was leaning against the back of the back seat, hugging the Coca Cola bottle to her chest with one hand — the other hand pushed up between her legs.

“You got to pee again?” Momma said.

Missy shook her head and pointed out the window. There was Victor, standing under the ‘Cold Beer’ sign, watching us. He started toward the car, carrying a six-pack of beer in one hand and a bag of ice in the other. He put the ice and the beer in a cooler he got out of the trunk and set it in the front seat between him and Momma. Suddenly, he reached over the seat and yanked the gray ball cap out of my hand.

“Hey, the gas station man gave me that,” I said.

“You didn’t ask me about it.”

“It doesn’t belong to you.” I looked at Momma. “Tell him it doesn’t belong to him Momma.”

“I’d be ashamed Victor,” Momma said.

“Shame has nothing to do with it.” He put the hat on his own head and adjusted the bill over his eyes. “Too big for him anyway.”

Outside Toledo the road was so slicked over with grease you could hear the tires lick through it. The Ford slowed to a stop.