The Song of David (5 page)

“That’s amazing.”

“Well, I grew up here and I could see, once. I can still see it in my mind. It’d be harder if I had to start over in a whole new place.”

“So what happened?”

“A rare disease with a fancy name you would probably forget as soon as I said it. We didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. And even if we had known sooner, there probably wouldn’t have been anything anyone could do.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

I swallowed. My life had changed at eleven too. But in a totally different way. Before I could comment, Amelie came to a stop.

“This is me. This is it.” She snapped her stick back out and tapped it in front of her, turning toward a little wrought iron fence and stopping as her stick rattled against it. She released my arm and stepped away, feeling for the latch on the gate and releasing it easily. The house was old, turn-of-the-century old, if not older, and it was still stately, though the smattering of snow and the darkness camouflaged the yard and the large, wrap-around porch that had seen better days. Light shone from the upstairs windows, and the walk and the steps were clear. Amelie seemed comfortable traversing them, so I stayed by the gate, waiting until she was safely inside. She stopped about half-way down the path and turned slightly.

“David?” she asked, raising her voice as if she wasn’t sure I remained.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for walking me home.”

“You’re welcome.”

I waited until the front door closed behind her before I turned away. The snow had stopped and the world was so still I sang to keep myself company, closing my eyes now and then and counting my steps, wondering how it would be to not see at all, and wondering how a blind girl had ended up dancing in my club.

(End of Cassette)

Moses

MILLIE REACHED FOR the tape recorder, sliding her fingers along the buttons until she reached the one she wanted. Then she pressed it down and Tag’s voice ceased. She sat gripping the player as if she were holding onto the memory. The room was filled with expectancy, with anticipation. I’d heard it in Tag’s voice, felt it in the care with which he remembered the details, and felt his wonder as he retraced his steps. He’d pulled me in, and I’d forgotten for a moment where I was. But now I felt awkward, intrusive, and I wanted to put my hands over my ears.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and I couldn’t get that Blake Shelton song out of my head,” Millie said softly. “He was nice. And strong. I could feel his strength as he walked beside me. That night I actually dreamed about the way his arm felt against my hand. Right after I lost my sight I still dreamed in pictures. I loved it because I could see when I went to sleep. But as the years have gone by, my dreams have started to look more like my reality. I still dream in pictures sometimes, but more often than not, I dream in smells and feelings, in sounds and sensations.”

Millie’s voice was hushed like she was thinking out loud, like she’d forgotten I was there at all. I thought maybe I should speak up, before she told me something she would rather keep private, but she continued suddenly.

“I’ve gone on a few blind dates.” She smiled in my general direction, letting me know that she was aware of me after all, and I laughed, which is probably what she intended.

“Blind, blind dates, I mean. And I’ve gone on a few dates with blind guys I actually knew beforehand. One guy I dated insisted on being called ‘visually impaired.’” Amelie made finger quotes in the air. “I don’t really understand that. To me it’s like calling someone ‘melanin deficient’ instead of calling them white. People are so weird. I am a white, blind girl. I am a twenty-two-year old, white, blind girl. Can we just call it like it is?”

I laughed again, wondering where she was going with this, but happy to let her talk. I wondered briefly if she knew I was black. It was kind of an amazing feeling knowing that for once, it truly didn’t matter.

“I’ve dated guys who can see too—you know, the visually unimpaired.” She smiled at the label. “Not many of them. But a few. My cousin Robin usually sets me up. And I’m pretty sure every one of them has been extremely unattractive. Ugly, strange, warty, and generally rejected by other women. Which is okay. I can pretend they all look like a million bucks, and I’ll never know any different. The image in my head is the only one that counts, right? But once Robin tried to set me up on a date with a deaf guy, and I put my foot down. It wasn’t that he was deaf, exactly, but how did she think we were going to communicate? Robin sometimes thinks that because I’m disabled, I can only date guys with disabilities. Because, of course, no one else would want me, right?” Millie’s voice caught, and she smiled immediately, laughing at herself. “Uh oh. Struck a nerve there.”

“That isn’t true,” I challenged.

“It’s true sometimes,” she whispered, and I could tell she was wondering if the truth had gotten to be too much for Tag.

“I found myself hoping David wasn’t a good looking guy. I hoped he wasn’t good looking because it didn’t matter to me, and it would make him less desirable to everyone else. I thought if he were homely, it would make him more open to someone like me.” She let her breath out slowly, almost sadly.

“But I knew he was beautiful. It was in the way he carried himself, his confidence, his kindness. I thought about asking the girls at work about him. But I chickened out. I didn’t want them to laugh at me or to feel sorry for me. I told myself maybe we could be friends. He seemed open to that.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was fascinated. But I didn’t know what to say. Millie just sat, gripping the tape recorder between her forearms. Then, without further comment, she pushed play once more.

THE STAGE BECAME an octagon on Tuesday for fight night, and on Wednesday Amelie wasn’t on the schedule to dance, which Morgan informed me as soon as I walked in, smirking like he’d really pulled one over on me.

“What’s with you, Morgan?” I asked, dumbfounded and just a little pissed. “You act like it’s a big damn joke. What? You hire the blind girl as a prank? That’s an asshole thing to do.”

Morgan threw up his hands and protested, all the while laughing like that was exactly what he’d done. “She came in here with her stick, looking more like Helen Keller than Heidi Klum. No makeup, hair in a messy ponytail wearing a big coat and snow boots. Kinda frumpy, you know? She said she wanted to apply for the job. Vince was tending the bar that day, and he and I thought maybe you had put her up to it. Like you were punking us or something. So we said, sure. You know me. I’m always up for a good laugh. She waited for her audition with all the other girls, and amazingly enough, everyone was really nice to her. The girls kind of took her aside. Next thing we know, she’s in the cage, wearing a little tiny pair of shorts and a skin-tight top, hair loose, working that pole like a pro.”

Hearing Morgan describe Amelie’s audition make me feel slightly sick to my stomach. It shouldn’t have. If he’d been talking about Justine or Lori, or any of the other girls, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But I didn’t like thinking about Vince and Morg looking at Amelie, laughing and leering when she couldn’t even see them doing it. Morgan continued, completely unaware of my discomfort.

“She was good enough that we knew you weren’t messing with us. And she seemed pretty damn determined. Excited even. And, I admit, I thought it was funny.”

“Hilarious.”

“You gonna fire her, Boss?”

“Now, why would I do that?” Morgan was really getting on my nerves.

“She’s not as popular as some of the girls. Couple of the guys complain that she doesn’t look at them when she’s dancing.”

“Isn’t it enough that they get to look at her?” I shot back, irritated.

“Hey!” Morg raised his hands in surrender again. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Boss. She can’t carry a round card on fight nights, so we’re a little short there.”

“We’re not short there, Morg. We have four other girls totally capable of working fight nights,” I replied. The girls who danced at Tag’s also got to prance around the octagon, announcing the rounds.

“Okay. If you want to keep her, that’s cool. She’ll be back in on Thursday, just in case you wanted to have a talk with her about sexing it up a little. You know, maybe dancing with her eyes open.” Morgan was laughing again.

“Morg?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Go home.”

“Wh-what?” Morgan’s chuckle skittered to a halt.

“I’ll help Vince finish out the night. Go home.”

Morgan pulled on the hand towel he always kept over one shoulder and rubbed his hands nervously.

“But—” Morg attempted to argue.

“You think it’s funny to laugh at a blind girl. That kind of worries me, Morg. Makes me wonder about what kind of man I have managing my bar. See, there are two things I hate.” I held up my thumb and my pointer finger and counted them off. “Bullies and bitches. I never knew you were a bully, Morg. Now, don’t bitch, or I’ll have two reasons to fire you. Go home. And if you want to come back, you will rethink your sense of humor. You got me?” My voice was mild, my posture relaxed, but I didn’t break eye contact with my bartender, and I watched as Morgan dropped his eyes and shifted uncomfortably, as if waiting for me to change my mind. When I was silent, he threw down his towel and reached for his wallet and keys that he kept stashed beneath the bar.

“I’m old enough to be your father, Tag. Your dad was one of my best friends. You need to show me a little more respect,” Morgan huffed, all joking clearly aside.

“You’ll have to earn it, Morg. Bottom line, you’re not my father, you’re not my best friend, and I don’t owe you shit. You can come back tomorrow if you’re man enough to make some adjustments. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll understand, and I’ll be looking for your replacement.”

Morgan started to argue once more, thought better of it, and shut his mouth. With his lips clamped into a hard line, his jaw clenched, and his fists tight, he walked out from behind the counter and through the bar, shoving his way out the front door, practically mowing down Amelie, who had just entered the establishment. Morg cursed and shot a look over his shoulder at me before disappearing into the darkness.