|
|
|
Blues for Vi
by Cesca Janece Waterfield Vi dropped the grocery bags on the couch beneath the window that looked out on Highway 431. She pressed a button on the answering voice and heard a long beep, then her mother’s voice: Viola? Call your mama. Daddy’s dead. She sank slowly down. A brown bag toppled onto her lap, pig still grinning. Digby put his cane aside and came to her. Oh godsweetie. She took his hand. They had spent the afternoon running errands, looking for gardening tools when Digby suggested they stop in at the Golden Corral. Vi agreed. She thought this might be a good time to mention the dark haired guy. I could see me married to you, Digby told her while they waited for the waitress to bring new plates. I could. Vi smiled and looked to see where the waitress had gotten to. When she turned to face Digby, he said, Vi. He lowered his chin and turned his head slightly to his left. Te amo. Te amo, Vi. Vi had thought about her daddy then. As Digby went on about how most players these days had middling batting averages, Vi picked at her plate and thought. She pictured her daddy out back of the house, reaching into his sack of Redman, working his jaw to make the deposit. Her daddy liked Golden Corral too. Across the table, Vi looked at Digby’s cheekbones, his close shave. Vi thought about her daddy’s salt and pepper beard. The waitress filled up her tea and Vi thought some more. She had told the dark haired guy she’d come to Anniston soon. On the way home, they stopped in to the Pig and then at Lloyd’s for a quarter bag. When Vi pushed open her front door, Digby was comparing Ty Cobb and Tug McGraw and explaining that the term “batting average” was really a layman’s term, the correct term being, “sabermetrics.” Vi stepped inside her house and realized that the dark haired guy’s beard was acquiring a little gray. She dropped the bags and was going to get the bong when she saw the blinking red light on the answering machine. Who’s calling Saturday this early? she said aloud. I hope I hope…she didn’t. Well, Anniston was on hold now. Vi had a funeral to plan. She had to sort the house of her daddy, and he was a man who threw away nothing. A car flew by on the highway, followed by another. Then it was quiet. Digby stood near but Vi had let go his hand. She stared at the turned-off t.v. Looks like these blues are going to hold. Whudjew say, Vi? Digby asked softly. Vi looked up and noticed Digby, his gaze mellow. She stood and turned to the window. Nothing, D. It’s going to rain. That’s all.
|
|