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

“My, my. Would you look at this traffic?” Victor pushed the bill of the ball cap up and took a sip off his beer. He looked over at Momma. “What did that guy want back there in Flat Rock anyway?”

“That gas station feller?”

“Fellow,” Victor said. “Him. Yes. That fellow .”

“Why nothing. Come over to give the kids Coke Colas.”

“What did he want in exchange?”

“Exchange?”

“Tit for tat, Momma. Exchange.”

“Nothing. Just passing the time of day.”

“What was he smiling about then? I saw him smiling.”

“Can’t a man smile at me? I don’t get upset when some woman smiles at you.”

“Hell you don’t. You know how I am, Ruby.”

“Yeah,” Momma said. “I know how you are.” She set the Bible on the dash, reached down on the floorboard and brought up a magazine — the one Victor had his poem in — Motor City Love in glossy white letters written across the front. Below the title a pretty woman in a long, curvy red coat leaned back against a white Thunderbird with her arms crossed. One naked leg stuck out from where the coat came together, you could see up the side. Momma fanned herself with the magazine. “I wished it would hurry up and rain.”

“It will. Don’t worry.” Victor looked at Momma and grinned. “That magazine will keep you cool. As long as you don’t read it.” Before Momma could answer him he said, “‘Where Feelings Fail’, by Victor Denalsky,” his voice like somebody on the radio, deep and smooth, wanting you to like it even if you didn’t. “She promised to me herself, and I accepted. But what is a promise, she never promised herself? What was accepted, where feelings fail.”

“That’s so sad,” Momma said.

“An old flame,” Victor said. “She broke my heart. I broke hers. My one and only publication.” He took a sip off his beer.

“That’s so sad,” Momma said.

“It’s crap,” Victor said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Black and blue clouds bulged overhead. A light flashed inside them. Then came thunder.

Doom! Da doom doom doom!

“Been looking like rain ever since Flat Rock,” Momma said.

I stood on my knees, looking over Missy’s shoulder. There was a yard of junk cars out there, and behind it a long gray building like a battleship with antennas and windows. Smoke stacks pointing up in the sky like guns. A siren started and a fiery-red mouth opened inside the building. A creepy orange mist filled the dark windows, spilling out over the junk jalopies and truck cabs piled atop one another like bugs.

“Fire,” Missy said.

“They’re making steel in there,” I said. “Remember when Daddy took us?”

“No.”

“Where Daddy worked. Don’t you remember?”

Missy looked again at the building. The misty light made an orange belly on the clouds. “Daddy don’t work in there Orbie.”

“I know that silly. This is Toledo.” I punched her in the arm, not hard, just enough so she’d remember.

“Momma,” she whined.

“Hush. I’m just playing with you. Daddy did work at Fords. Remember? He worked in Detroit.”

“Oh.”

“This is Toledo. See?”

Missy put two fingers in her mouth and looked at me. Then she took the fingers out and smiled. “Yeah, Detroit.” She climbed up with her doll, up on the back of the front seat next to where Momma was. “Momma, look at the fire. It making steel like Daddy.”

Momma fanned herself with the magazine. “I declare. It is ain’t it?”

“Daddy worked in Detroit didn’t he Momma?”

“Yes he did, sweetheart.”

Victor cleared his throat. “Your father worked at Fords Missy. You already know that.”

“She’s just a child Victor,” Momma said.

Victor finished his beer and put the empty somewhere on the floor. “Why can’t you just say what happened and be done with it? It’s been three years.”

Something in Victor’s voice caused me to sit up straight.

“You’re talking like a man who’s had one too many Victor. I told you about that.”

“Beer’s got nothing to do with it, Momma.”

“It wouldn’t have, you didn’t drink it all the time. You already half drunk!”

“Not yet, Momma. I am working on it though.”

Missy said, “Say what, Momma?”

“Nothing sweetheart. Victor’s just talking old foolishness is all.” She looked at Victor. “I don’t know what’s eating you, but I’ll tell you one thing’s for sure. You keep on the way you have been and you can put me and the kids both on the next bus home!”

“Oh, come on,” Victor laughed. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would too! You’d get plenty of peace and quiet then. I told you Victor. They not ready.”

“ They not ready! They not ready! What is that? Some kind of hick Latin?” Victor’s beer-breath floated back over the seats. “How do you know they’re not ready?”

“They just kids, that’s how,” Momma said.

At the gray building the fire mouth started to close down; it sucked away the blood color from the clouds, from the yard, the junky cars and truck cabs. Black smoke poured out from the stacks. More lightning. Thunder.

Da doom doom doom!

Victor pulled out another beer and popped off the cap. I could see the snake around the heart tattoo on the back of his hand.

Every living thing eventually loses. Suffers and dies.

Missy was on her knees; pushing herself up next to Momma. There was a bruise mark along her leg, a smoky submarine under yellow water. Victor had spanked her the other night for refusing to eat her black-eyed peas.

“Not ready for what, Momma?” she asked.

Momma frowned at Victor. “See what you started?” She turned to Missy with a softer voice. “Nothing sweetheart. Victor’s just talking about Daddy is all. You knew he died didn’t you?”

Missy nodded, putting on a baby voice. “And I was too liddle.”

“That’s right sweetheart. You was.”

“ Where did Daddy die?”

Victor looked back at Missy, impatient. “You know that already, Missy.”

“Victor hush,” Momma said without looking at him. “You already know where, honey. Remember? He died up there in that steel mill in Detroit.” She looked around at the long gray building. “Like Victor said. Like over yonder. It was an accident.”

Missy looked at the building. I looked at it too. A block of lights and smoke looked back. Something bad was in there — I could feel it — something worse even than the Dark Thing. All of a sudden I got this all-over numb feeling — like I was asleep and awake at the same time — and then I was floating — floating up toward the ceiling. My whole body. Or maybe it was just my head. Anyway, I was looking down. Looking down on Momma and Missy. Looking down on Victor.

Then it was like the ceiling wasn’t there anymore and I was floating a few feet above the car. Victor and Momma and Missy were still below, but sitting in theater seats now, eating popcorn, wide eyed, watching as if a scary movie, gray and white lights flickering over their faces. I could see a long line of traffic going in either direction, how it had boxed in the Ford, trapping it in just one place. Then the line started to move and I was back inside the car again, still floating along the ceiling.

“How Momma?” Missy said. “How did Daddy die?”

“Go on. Tell the girl,” Victor said.

“Shut up Victor!” Momma’s voice had razor blades now, razor blades and knives. She reached around and tried to smooth Missy’s hair. “It was an accident, sweetheart.”

There. See? It was an accident. That’s all it was. Shut up now! Stupid little mouse face!