My watch started working again and read 9:24. After all I had been through, I wanted to say that’s impossible, but I knew better. The very thought of it filled me with euphoria. I burst out in giddy laughter as I strolled down the Boardwalk in the direction of my car. A few heads turned my way, but someone talking and laughing to themselves at Venice Beach was not even worth a glance.
I gave a hearty wave to Rasta Man as I walked up to his booth. He eyed me a little warily until I said, “Hey, man, sorry about going off on you.”
“No worries, brotha,” he said bumping fists with me. “You feeling better now?”
“Feeling great, bro! In fact, give me one of your small-sized shirts for my son and an extra-large for me — your choice.”
“You got it!”
He ripped through one of the cartons and retrieved two Bob Marley shirts with “One Love” on the front.
“That’s smokin’, man,” I said shooting him a sly wink, which made him laugh.
When I reached the block where my car was parked, I froze with my mouth ajar.
My Lexus sedan was completely totaled.
A Coca cola truck was lodged into the driver’s side of my car and rammed it into a telephone pole. My car was caved in like an accordion. A police officer stood next to the truck writing a report while his partner knelt beside a man in handcuffs. All I could think about was, if I had still been sleeping in that car…
“Hey, mister, too bad about your car.”
The stinky fumes and creaky wheels of a stroller told me who it was.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“They say that driver they handcuffed was drunker than a brewery. He was weaving down the street, lost control of his truck and slammed right into your car. Damn shame. That was a nice Lexus.”
“Yes, it was, but my insurance will cover it.” I frantically searched through the pockets of my coat.
“Whatcha looking for?” the woman asked.
I sighed. “Doesn’t matter now. I forgot I left my cell phone in the car.”
“Oh, that’s all right, mister. You can use mine.”
She pushed some magazines aside in her stroller, reached in and pulled out a cell phone much more sophisticated than mine. I chuckled when she handed it to me.
“Thanks. Nice phone.” I handed her a ten, this time on purpose.
“It suits my needs,” she casually replied while scratching her ass. “You calling them insurance people?”
“Yes, Ma’am… right after I call my son.”
I kissed Thomas on the forehead then stood and listened to his quiet snores for a moment before I turned off the light and closed the door to his bedroom.
Later that evening as I sat in the den, I pulled out my family album from underneath the nightstand. I thumbed through the album and it didn’t hurt so much this time as I looked at pictures of Bernadette and Thomas and us together. Yeah, I teared up a little, but it was fine.
Lost in thought, I absently closed the book. A photo slipped out, floated to the carpet, and landed face down. I picked it up and turned it over. My mouth crumbled open as the family album took on a life of its own collapsing onto the floor.
I couldn’t stop gaping at the sepia print of my mother as a little girl. She was about seven or eight years old, wearing a brightly colored flower dress, with her thick long pigtails and shiny black shoes. Her adorable smile was nothing compared to those big brown eyes. The words finally tumbled out of my mouth in a whisper of disbelief. “Mama, it was you.”
Joy permeated my entire body as I let the tears fall this time. I kissed the picture and whispered, “Thank you, Mama… my guardian Angel.”
WHAT THE BLIND EYE SEES
I remember the last two things I ever saw clearly before I became partially blinded: a flash of blue light, and my brother saving me. After that everything was darkness, that sucking, clinging darkness you get when you swim over a deep ocean rift and look down. I remember the sound of screams, and my brother’s hot breath pumping against my cheek as he bore me away from the temple grounds.
“I can’t see,” I whimpered over and over.
“I know, Posy” he panted, kissing my ravaged brow. “But we need to be quiet now. Don’t be afraid.”
I don’t remember everyone being killed that night. Not mom or dad or anyone. That knowledge crept in later, irrepressible and omnipresent, until it seemed as if everything had always been that way. Everyone was dead. Everyone had always been dead. Just like fire always scalded and cold always dug cruel fingers down your neck to scratch at your bones.
Just like I always couldn’t see.
Some of the darkness did eventually fade. I could see blurs, vague outlines and light shifting. Sometimes, if I focused for a long period of time, I could even see Rawthorne’s face.
As the years went on, I wished I couldn’t.
Before everyone was dead, Rawthorne looked young and handsome, the perfect Son of the Sigorna. Not gifted with magic, of course, but he was strong and athletic and charmed even of the stuffiest of Dad’s monastic friends.
Now, he was haggard and careworn. The corners of his mouth were split and peeling, and the skin beneath his eyes were sodden and moldy, like the undersides of mushrooms. A sour, yeasty smell lurked on his breath and the places where his body folded.
“Don’t be afraid of the dark,” he’d say, swigging from a slimy flask. His hands often shook, especially on moonless nights. “The darkness keeps us hidden. The darkness keeps us safe.”
His voice reassured me, and, after a while, I no longer feared the black shroud that descended over our world. I couldn’t discern a moonless night anyway.
What I began to fear was the light.
“Quick! Somebody’s coming!” I called to him one night. He was about five feet below ground level, still digging. In the distance, the murky bob of a lantern approached. I smelled burning sulfur and heard sounds of angry footsteps and growling hounds.
“How much longer do I have?” He panted, leaning his shovel against the side of the hole and moping his brow with filthy hands. He was exhausted, but he would never let me dig. Since we couldn’t risk lights anyway, I played lookout.
Well, listen-out.
“Five minutes, at most,” I said. “And they’ve got dogs.”
“Damn it.” He kicked the ground, a staunch thump indicating he reached wood. “It would have been a good one. Solid mahogany.”
I explored the mossy gravestone with my fingertips. Far too faded for the normal eye to see, I could still read it. “A Baroness!” I exclaimed. “Aw, Rawthorne, we have to get it! That’d be meat enough for weeks! We could even buy a night at the tavern! I’m sure a few pearls would win that pretty Shelley girl.” I winked at him. Most would flee from a wink from me, with the scars like tree roots sprouting from my brow, but Rawthorne managed a weak smile.
“What would you suggest, little sister?”
“Let’s see… Dirty Martini?”
“You know I don’t like—”
“Come on, Rawthorne, please! I never get to do anything! If I’m not scared of bones and bits, whose fault is that anyway?”
He winced. Though guilt heated my skin I held my gaze. I knew he only did this sort of thing to take care of me. He couldn’t show his face and get a real job, not with the dastardly Spiders after us. But it’d been weeks since I’d seen daylight, let alone another living humanoid. I was itching for some fun.