Michigan Fall

Michigan fall

  Published by Philip John Walibba

  Copyright 2015 Philip John Walibba

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  Prologue

  My Name is Leila. H. Cook and I‘m blind. When I was a little girl, I thought the world could only be seen through touch, but as I grew older, this, I sadly found out, wasn’t so. Many other things started to change. Soon, I began to realize life was not as I had envisioned it. Some changes I must add were swift and brutal. Anyway, in all my years, I have met numerous obstacles, experienced both good and bad moments, I have laughed, cried, but nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to what I’m about to share with you.

  I have had an opportunity to meet and made friends with people who truly believe all people are painted with one brush but equally, I have also met many who think being blind is being accursed. Most sighted people would you believe still think we the blind have no feelings especially when it comes to matters of the heart, of things concerning love. Well, let me tell you dear reader, these folks couldn’t be more wrong.

  My story begins on the eve of my seventeenth birthday, on a cold wet night in early October, nineteen sixty four. It was the time of the year when the end of every summer signaled a time for harvest of apples and curving pumpkins. It also was the time when my life took a dramatic twist.

  Our family home was in Smithville-Kalkaska County, Michigan. Papa once said our ancestors had lived in these parts for many years. My Papa, mom, of course me, the eldest, my two adorable sisters, Abby who was thirteen at the time and Amy the youngest, eight, were one closely knit family. Often, we planted apples in our orchard, grew raspberries, tomatoes, peas, strawberries, sweet corn, and green beans too on the a hundred and twenty acre family farm. We also did have a pony named Lizzy, two donkeys, Oldie and Peggy, goats, ducks, and free- range chickens.

  Smithville was my home. Here, I was very happy and felt contented at least most of the time. I loved the open country, most especially the sweet smells of open fields and the pleasures that my senses derived from them. The flurry of vibrant sweet scents from autumn leaves often took my breath away. The fresh cold waters and synchronized conversations of frogs in the stream that run through our property into the Manistee river made life a paradise for a girl like me.

  However, on this particular day, it had been exhausting for everyone, even for me. I was given the odd task of sorting peaches from apples and placing them into the barn. Mom and the girls on the other hand were gone into the farm. Papa too was gone all day to Taffeltown, about two miles from home.

  The sound of his old pickup truck only did rumble up the long dirt road later that evening screeching to a halt at the front of the house.

  'Do light a bonfire my ladies.' I heard him say as he slammed its door shut. 'Tomorrow, my lovely daughter comes of age. Leila my angel,’ papa continued, ‘you’ve blossomed into a most adorable damsel, and would you say, you look just like your mother!’

  I loved my Father deeply. The sound of his voice always warmed my heart. He was a true hero, my knight in shining armor. Never once did I smell alcohol on his person or hear him get into a fight with mom.

  'I despise a man who takes to strong drink,’ papa often said, ‘it clouds the mind and blurs his judgment.’

  During dinner that night, Amy, the youngest suddenly turned to mother.

  ‘Mom, what is love?’ she asked sounding as though she still had food stuffed inside her mouth.

  ‘Ah sweetie, what can I say?’ Mother replied gently. ‘Love is an emotion, a feeling we simply can't control nor adequately describe am afraid. But why would you ask such a question?'

  ‘Coz I heard Leila and Abby talk about boys in the bedroom.’ she answered in reply before laughing heartily. That for me was the most embarrassing moment I had ever experienced in my entire life thanks to my nosy sister.

  ‘And what do boys have to do with love?’ mother asked, she seemed intrigued by Amy's revelation and wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by.

  ‘Everything’ Amy’s pitchy voice replied.

  ‘Oh Honie, why do you say boys have everything to do with love?’

  ‘Shut up Amy!’ I shot back sharply, hoping to break up this mother and daughter alliance building up right in front of me.

  ‘It’s because Leila said so.’ She babbled.

  'Darling Amy, don’t you mind her,' mom comforted the little gossip, 'tell me, is there a boy in particular these two lovebirds were referring to?’

  ‘Yes mother.’ the little rascal eagerly went on.

  ‘Amy!’ I shouted in a desperate attempt to salvage my secret.

  ‘Adam Holloway.’

  I was too late. Amy had already spilled out his name, just like that. She had blurted his name out loud in the open without a care in the world what this utterance meant to the rest of us seated at the dinner table.

  ‘Holloway?’

  I trembled when I heard papa’s deep voice.

  ‘I thought I already made myself clear,' papa interjected, 'I never want to hear that name mentioned in this house ever again.’ His voice was stern.

  I can’t exactly say papa hated our neighbors the Holloways, no, he loathed them. He blamed them for every single misfortune that had befallen us, generations past and present. Papa believed the Holloways were solely responsible for my blindness too, more so old Carl Holloway, Adam’s father.

  ‘That old Coyote,’ papa very often said when referring to Holloway senior, ‘he once tried to ruin my yields, sprayed my crops with chemicals and unknown to me at the time, your mother and I went on to eat of the toxic corn whilst you were still inside her womb. When you were born, we soon came to realize something was wrong with you. You were blind. However,’ papa went on ‘lucky for us, you weren’t deaf, because then I would have grabbed my shot gun and sent those Holloways to goddamn wherever they came from.’

  ‘Pa, it’s not true,’ Abby’s sweet soft voice broke in protesting, ‘Amy is lying.’

  ‘No am not a liar.’ Amy yelled back.

  ‘Yes you are.’ Abby insisted.

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘You’re a big fat Liar!’

  Abby always seemed to know which buttons to press when it came to Amy. The little brat let out a loud cry quickly followed by comforting words from both its parents. I had narrowly survived the onslaught.

  Later that night, past my bedtime, I still couldn’t sleep. The forbidden name had come dancing right back into my mind.

  'Why was I thinking about him?' I pondered. It seemed kind of odd because the morning before he’d showed up in our courtyard; he'd been a stranger, just a name.