Otis and Victoria

The only sounds he heard were occasional popping noises from the gas oven and a steady tick from the mantle clock. The clock had been his grandfather's, and was easily heard in the three room frame home. There was no fireplace, but the clock sat atop a homemade pine mantle above a gas space heater. He'd made it for the clock, a few pictures and as a what-not shelf for Victoria, his lovely wife. The clock began its hourly toll, and after counting six chimes he smiled; she would be home soon.

His excitement heightened as he carefully centered a dusty yellowed candle on the worn oak table in his own spirited geriatric way. The candle was somewhat deformed from years of storage in his mother's antique cupboard but shape did not matter, tonight would be the sixth lighting of the precious wax testimonial, and he sincerely hoped it would not be the last. His thin fingers straightened the fragile tatted doily beneath the candle and its crystal caddy then smoothed the frail edges. A moment later he put out their best imported china plates, then silver forks onto fine cloth napkins that would serve at the intimate meal.

She hadn't said a word this morning about what this day meant to either of them, but this did not discourage his movement about the kitchen as he cracked open the oven smelling the aroma of pot roast and vegetables. His heart skipped a happy beat as he thought of the carrot cake he'd also baked for this romantic occasion. The iced production now waited on the tile counter by the sink, lovingly protected in a faded pink Tupperware container.

Anticipation and excitement swelled on this special day. He walked dragging the heels of his worn, loosely tied wing tips the few steps from the kitchen, around the hassock in the living room to the front window where the reflection of the sun's diffused rays warmed his face. Then he bent toward the end table by the couch to open the Victrola music box. He had already placed a carbon record with their favorite 78-rpm cut on the turntable, and thought of the Bing Crosby recording "Beautiful Girl" as he wound the mainspring slowly, preparing for her arrival. This was the most romantic mood he knew how to create, and this record brought back memories of youth, vitality and an undying love between him and his wife. Carefully adjusting the small cabinet doors for the proper volume, he turned toward the window in expectation of the arrival of his bride of sixty years, but it was not yet time. After a few moments he shuffled back to the kitchen to remove dinner from the oven while briefly considering the pace that these years had passed. It was hard to imagine how time had not only passed, but accelerated as each day had coursed into decades.

With worn oven mitts he removed the hot glass covered aluminum roasting pan from the oven and shifted to place it on the counter, but accidentally bumped the bottom of the pan and jarred loose the glass lid which slid into the sink and made a crashing sound as it broke. "Oh my," He thought, worrying. She would be disappointed in having to clean up the mess.

Slowly shaking his head in disgust, he ignored the broken lid and finished placing the hot dish on the counter hoping the evening would be otherwise flawless. Then he sat at the table with his head down and hands on his knees and thought of his waning attempts at romance by the series of blunders he made each day. But, he still felt the same youthful passion for her that he'd held years ago, "I can't just sit around, I have to do something for her." He said to himself.

A few silent minutes passed. He heard someone step up onto the wood porch and approach the front door, so he stood weakly and moved toward the living room calling out before the knock. "Hello, who is it?"

"It's Tom, Mr. Hunt, I was wondering if you would like me to mow your lawn tomorrow or Saturday, or... is there anything you need help with this evening?"

He recognized the voice and smiled revealing worn yellowed teeth, "Oh... Hi Tom, my best neighbor, please come in. Do you have a few minutes now?" Tom waited as he made his way to the door, unlatched, and pushed open the creaky wood framed screen.

"Sure Mr. Hunt, what can I do for you?" With caring eyes Tom looked at Mr. Hunt and his white two-day whiskers, and was glad to see him smile. Tom walked in holding the screen behind him so it wouldn't slam.

"Well... I've broken some glass in the kitchen. Can you help clean it up? And please call me Otis, I've asked you to call me Otis!"

Smelling burned food, Tom entered and said, "Sure Mr. Hunt, but I feel funny calling you Otis. It isn't right; you're sixty five years older than me."

Still smiling, Otis turned back toward the kitchen, "Age doesn't matter, the name is Otis. You just had a birthday didn't you? Aren't you about twenty five now?"

"Yes sir." Tom said thinking of his real age of thirty two but not caring to correct Otis.

Tom saw the broken glass lid in the sink, "This isn't too bad Mr. Hunt, let me clean it up." Tom began discarding the glass into the trash one piece at a time, and noticed the old white emergency candle on the table along with mismatched stoneware plates for two, complete with stainless steel silverware and paper napkins. Tom lied, "You've got a nice smelling dinner here and the table is arranged real pretty with your best china and silver; are you expecting company?"

"No, just waiting for Victoria to get home from work. It's our sixtieth anniversary today! I can hardly wait to see her." Tom thought to himself about how much the old man loved Victoria, and knew that due to the gentleman's blindness he hadn't seen her in years. Otis took a seat at the table and let out a big sigh.

Tonight, Tom clearly noticed how Otis' clothing hung limp from his shoulders. He was concerned at how much weight he'd lost the past few months but he didn't dwell on the sad thought. "I know you are expecting Victoria soon, but would you mind telling me how you met her while I do this," Tom asked?

Otis began as if on actors queue. "Alabama, 1917..." He talked of days when there were few automobiles, and many horses, mules, cattle, wagons and steam locomotives, sometime around his eighteenth birthday. "The barn dances were wonderful in those days, farmers, ranchers, share-croppers and anyone else from all around the county would come. Victoria's mother was full blood Cherokee, her daddy full blood Irish, my family, me, Victoria and her family we were all share-croppers..."

Tom had heard it before on many occasions but listened each time as if it were the first. Once the sink was clean, he turned to the food that Otis had prepared and saw the week-old pot roast and vegetables had been cooked into small clumps resembling charcoal.

As Otis continued to recall the old romance, he was completely unaware of Tom's movement about the kitchen. On these occasions age played a travesty on Otis' mind, which bound him in a seamless realm between memory and reality. Tom looked at Otis' leathered face and saw that at this very moment the two places were one, but the latter did not exist to Otis. Otis was there inside his story, full of youth, totally unaware he was trapped in his ninety seven year old body.

Tom emptied the charcoal roast into the trash then turned and opened the Tupperware container to see an old piece of molded carrot cake which he had fixed for Otis last week. He also emptied this into the trash. Tom moved about the kitchen, pulling food from Otis' refrigerated "ice box" to prepare him a little to eat. He found hamburger and made some patties placing them into a frying pan with a little chopped onion and bell pepper. While they cooked, he pulled Otis' favorite carrot cake mix from the pantry, prepared it in a small square cake pan and placed it into the oven. He then made gravy and smothered the hamburger steak-the gravy made it easier for Otis to swallow-and heated a can of green beans. He slipped quietly into the backyard and pulled a fresh tomato from Otis' garden. By the time supper was ready forty five minutes later; Otis was courting Victoria, and was well on his way toward asking for her hand in marriage.

Tom quietly picked up the plate next to Otis and dished out a small portion of steak, five slices of tomato with salt and pepper and two spoons of green beans, and then he cut the steak into small bite sized pieces. He poured a small glass of milk and set it all next to the elderly gentleman. Otis felt for the glass, took a sip, and began eating slowly, but between bites continued with the romantic history between him and Victoria. Tom was content in listening to the story as he had many times before. It was why he'd asked Otis to talk about it, and he desperately did not want to forget.

Otis said, "We knew we couldn't plan no type of formal wedding because her momma, daddy and brothers wouldn't let it happen..."

Tom perked up; this was his most favorite part of this particular story. Otis Hunt and Victoria Byrnes were about to elope. She was the oldest of nine siblings and her parents used her to raise the children, wash the clothes and cook for them all.

Otis continued, "We agreed that she should leave in the evening after most of her daily chores were done. The family would be less suspicious then, and her younger siblings would be in bed. I told her that I would drive down the road past her house at dusk, which was the normal time she was hanging out the wash. If it was safe, she would drop a piece of laundry, pick it back up and head to the wash kettle. Then I would turn down a small lane that went behind her house and she would sneak across the two acre pasture behind her house where she could jump on the wagon without me stopping and we could head straight out to the train depot.

"I drove by her house every night for three weeks, and she never gave the signal. Then one Wednesday it finally happened. She dropped one of her daddy's shirts, picked it back up and headed to the kettle. I turned down the lane and we got to the train depot exactly as planned. Then I started a plan even Victoria didn't know about, and I hoped her daddy wouldn't figure on either. We got on the west bound train as planned, but instead of going on into Mississippi, we changed to an east bound train at the very next stop and went back through our town and into another county. We found out later that the Byrnes did try to head us off in Mississippi at the second train stop from our town, but we had stayed in Alabama by pulling the switch. It probably saved me from facing a shotgun! After we married we moved to the other end, the north end of Alabama near Decatur and signed on to do our own share-cropping and didn't go back to see or even contact her family for over four years..."

Almost three hours had passed in what seemed like a heartbeat to Tom. Listening to Otis always seemed that way. It was about time to go now, so he served Otis a piece of fresh carrot cake with canned cream cheese icing, picked up the dirty dinner plate and went to the sink to wash the dishes.

Otis giggled under his breath and continued, "Our house on that farm had one room and a dirt floor, one door, and one window with no glass but we didn't care. We were together. That was all that mattered. We cooked on an open campfire in the side yard, and used a hand dug latrine in the woods for six months until we'd gathered enough timber and nails so I could build us a single barrel outhouse with no roof! We skinny dipped in Elk River every evening to wash off the day's sweat from cotton and tobacco farming. We thought we had everything then, and in many ways I suppose we did."

Tom laughed along with Otis at this part of the story, but couldn't understand an outhouse as a luxury item. He knew that Otis could talk for hours about how they'd later moved to Dallas where their children were born, then up to Memphis during the Great Depression, but now it was time to go, so he turned to Otis and interrupted, "I'm sorry, Mr. Hunt, I need to go now. I hate to call an end to this wonderful evening but my family is waiting."

Otis stopped. "Oh... I was hoping Victoria would get home before you left. I'd really like her to meet you."

Tom's eyes welled up and he was glad now that Otis was blind so he couldn't see the emotion, "Mr. Hunt, I met Victoria years ago, I'm sorry you don't remember." Tom held back the teary sensation and continued. "I put the anniversary candle back in the cupboard, it would have been your seventy sixth anniversary last weekend... Victoria won't be home this evening Otis, but this coming Saturday I'd be happy to take you up to see her at the cemetery. Would it be ok if I do that for you?"

Otis sat somewhat confused; he wrinkled his brows in thought slowly bringing himself back to the present. A minute passed. "Yes, I suppose so. Are you sure she won't be home tonight?"

"Yes sir, I'm sure.  Don't you remember? Victoria died two years ago. It was pneumonia that killed her, right before her 102nd birthday. Please try and remember." Tom moved over to Otis and placed a hand on his thin shoulder.

"No, I don't want to remember that." Otis replied slowly, still confused, "She was with me here this morning, she went to work." Otis looked up at Tom as if he could see him and said kindly, "Tom, I'm sorry you have to go home, I really do enjoy your company. Let me walk you to the door."

Tom moved slowly behind Otis. Only the sounds of the clock and Otis' heels dragging across the floor broke the silence. A single tear tore free from Tom's eye and traveled an eternity before striking the worn linoleum floor. To Tom, it sounded as if someone had struck a bass drum when it hit. He couldn't stand to see Otis lose his recent past. Otis pushed open the screen to let him out then reached out with his hand giving him a firm familiar handshake as Tom exited... the same he'd been taught years ago. "Goodnight Tom, come back and see me, you're a good neighbor!"

Tom took the handshake graciously, wishing it was a bear hug, "Goodnight Grandpa, I Love You! Sleep good. OK? I'll be back tomorrow. You rest easy tonight and we'll go visit Victoria Saturday." Tom turned and walked away.

Otis stood in the doorway puzzled at Tom's words and latched the screen. He listened as his footsteps thumped across the wood porch then crunched down the gravel drive to his car. By the time Tom's car door slammed he'd forgotten what Tom had said. He waved goodbye into the night, heard the car start and a few silent moments after the sounds of the car was gone, he reached to the Victrola, placed the needle and spun the record. "Beautiful Girl" played softly as he retreated to the bedroom for the night.

The next morning, Otis awoke and thought quietly a few moments before rising... "I'll cook Victoria a special meal for tonight; after all, today is our Sixtieth Anniversary!