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

“They ain’t nothin’ you done anybody else wouldn’t have. Not with what you had to face,” Granpaw said.

“That drawing Willis made drove him crazy, Granpaw. He almost choked me to death. Said Orbie and little Missy would be minus a mother if I didn’t toe the line.” Momma boohooed a while, then said, “I should have seen what was coming. My own little boy had more sense than I did.”

“Your own little boy had help.” Granny looked through the screen door to where I was sitting out on the back porch. “Ain’t that right Orbie?”

I tried to make myself small.

Granny smacked her lips. “You can’t keep nothing secret from old Big Ears out there.”

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Momma said. “I didn’t believe it — till I came across those papers.”

“From that box,” Granpaw said.

“I come across that letter from Armstrong said the investigation had turned against Victor, I knowed they was something bad wrong,” Momma said. “I should have got away from there then. I should have run.”

“You looked so pitiful tied up like you was,” Granny said.

“He violated me, Mamaw. In front of Missy.”

“Shhh,” Granny said. “Orbie’s still out there.”

Momma let out a big sob. “I could have spared my kids! I could have spared you and Granpaw!

“Shhh,” Granny said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Momma blew her nose. “At least Nealy had a change of heart.”

“Hell he did,” Granpaw said. “I threatened to tell Judge Beechum about his moonshine. That changed him.”

“I’m so ashamed I don’t know what to do,” Momma said.

“Blind love,” Granpaw said. “It’s the Devil’s Confusion.”

Momma boohooed even more then, making deep gulping sounds and blowing her nose.

“Powerful blind,” Granpaw said.

When we got to Flat Rock, it was getting dark and had begun to snow. There was the ‘ding ding’ sound the hose makes when you run over it at a gas station. Momma stopped the car and somebody knocked at the back window. I looked up at a man with orange hair and freckles, wearing a hat like mine with a winged horse. I rolled down the window.

“Never thought I’d see you again,” he said, smiling a big happy smile. The snow fell straight down in the lights of the gas station behind him. “Let’s see… Your name is…?”

“Orbie!” I almost shouted. “And you’re J C!”

“That’s right. Good memory, son. I see you’re still wearing the hat.”

Momma looked back from the front seat. “Who you got there, Orbie?”

“That man, Momma! It’s J C!”

J C looked in through the back window. “Evening Ma’am.”

“Ruby,” I said. “Her name is Ruby. She’s my Momma.”

Missy stood up on the front seat.

“And who’s this pretty little girl?” J C smiled.

Missy put her fingers in her mouth and backed away.

“It’s all right hon,” Momma said. “Say hidy.”

“Her name is Missy,” I said.

“How do you do Miss Missy?” J C said.

Missy kept her fingers in her mouth and said nothing.

“How can I help you Ma’am?” J C said.

“Fill it up with reg’lar,” Momma said. “And check the oil please.”

“Right away Ma’am,” J C said.

“He’s nice, ain’t he Momma?” I said after he had gone to do the work. I showed her the inside of my hat again, the letters J C stitched in blue. “He was good to me. He was gonna show me how to pump gas, but Victor wouldn’t let him.” A shadow passed over Momma’s face. J C finished with the gas and came around to the window on Momma’s side.

“Oil was fine Ma’am,” he said. “Three dollars for the gas.”

“You take checks?” Momma said.

J C nodded. “You can make it out to Sunshine Mobil.”

Momma wrote the check and handed it to J C along with her driver’s license.

J C smiled. All his freckles smiled too. “Says here you’re from Detroit Ma’am. Going up there pretty soon myself. I understand there’s work up there.”

“There is,” I said. “My Daddy worked in the factory.”

Momma gave me a look, but smiled anyway. “He worked in the steel mill at the Ford Rouge.”

“Is that right?”

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Momma said. “But how come you looking for work up there? Don’t this place belong to you?”

“No Ma’am,” J C said. “I’m just a manager. Work on cars occasionally. I’ve been looking for something with a little more pay.”

“We’re moving to Kentucky,” I said.

“Is that right?”

“Uh huh. To Harlan’s Crossroads! I’m ten going on eleven now.”

“He don’t need to hear about all that Orbie,” Momma said.

“That’s all right Ma’am.” J C handed Momma back her driver’s license.

“He gets excited,” Momma said.

“No I don’t,” I said.

I thought J C would walk off then, but he didn’t. He took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair and put it back on. “I was wondering Ma’am. I was wondering if you might know of anybody up there that I might talk to? About a job, I mean. Or maybe your husband would be the one to ask.”

“My husband’s dead,” Momma said.

J C rested his hand on the door above Momma, waiting for the answer to a question nobody had asked. Leaning a little forward he said, “I’m sorry to hear that Ma’am. Really, I am.”

Momma drew back a little. “Ain’t no call to be,” she said, her voice going all deadpan. “We all have to go sometime.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s so,” J C said. “It’s just. Well. It must be difficult for you I mean. I see you’re in a family-way.”

“I am,” Momma said. “But that’s no concern of yours.”

“No Ma’am. I didn’t mean to say it was.”

There were no other cars at the gas station and almost no traffic on the road. The kindness in J C’s voice matched the kindness in his eyes. It seemed to be settling softly over everything like the snow was. I listened to the snow ticking against the front window, wondering why Momma was being so mean.

“I better get back to work,” J C said. “I’m sorry for your trouble, Ma’am.” A big truck wheezed by the gas station, slow grinding its gears up the road. J C made a move to walk away.

“Hold on a minute,” Momma said. She got out a piece of paper from her purse, wrote something on it and gave it to J C. “I cain’t promise you nothing but here’s the name and number of one of Jessie’s friends. He works at the mill.”

“I appreciate this Ma’am.”

“Tell him I sent you,” Momma said. “Ruby Denalsky. The name is on the check.”

“Thank you Ma’am.” J C looked in through the window at Missy, then at me. “You kids take care of your Momma now. Nice seeing you again, son.”

Momma started the car and pulled away. J C smiled and tipped his hat at her, but I could see in the rear-view mirror that Momma wasn’t smiling back. When we got out of Flat Rock, the snow came thick in the headlights. Momma’s face was in the mirror, inside the orange glow of her cigarette, her eyes frozen to the road, lips unpainted and stretched. I had the thought she might be like that a long time.

I looked out the front window, listening to the back and forth noise of the windshield wipers. The snowflakes zoomed into the headlights, making swift white lines right for the car. They glowed like the blue light had glowed, only white. I thought of the power Granpaw said was inside me. Power to dissolve clouds. Contrary Power . I couldn’t wait to get back to Kentucky. I felt again of the pouch around my neck. Up front the snow lay white across the road. Past that it was all dark.