“You so special, how ’bout you take it from me? Or maybe you not really special after all, is that it?”
“I am!”
“ ’At’s all right, son. We cain’t all be special.”
“I am special!” Isaiah said, so angry that the tears came.
Blind Bill gave Isaiah his ball and patted his head. “Now, now, I didn’t mean any offense, little man. ’Course you special. I can tell. Blind Bill can tell.”
“You can?”
“Yes, sir, yes, sir.”
The old man’s words settled over Isaiah like a balm. At least somebody cared about his feelings. Isaiah was tired of being small and easily dismissed. He was tired of everybody—Sister, Memphis, Octavia, his teachers, the folks at Mother AME—telling him what he could and couldn’t do. What good was it having something special if he couldn’t let anybody know about it?
“All right, then. I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to keep it a secret.”
The old man crossed his heart with a long finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
That was the most solemn promise Isaiah knew.
“I can see things in my mind. When Sister’s holding the cards, I can tell what shapes she’s got without even seeing ’em.”
Bill’s mouth twitched. “ ’Zat so? You’d clean up real good at poker.”
“Sister won’t let me.”
“No, I expect she wouldn’t.”
“And sometimes…” Isaiah paused.
“Yes?”
“Sometimes, I can see things that haven’t happened yet.”
A tingle started in Bill’s stomach, working its way through his blood like a hunger.
With a shaking hand, he patted the top of the boy’s head again.
The boy took the blind man’s big paw, turning it over. “You got a mark on ya.”
“Old cut from back when I used to work the cotton. Them bristles reach out and GET YA!” Bill spooked Isaiah, who shrieked, then laughed. He liked Bill, liked being teased by the old man. It made him think of his daddy, how he used to swing Isaiah up by both of his arms when they walked down the street, and his mother would scold the both of them, saying, “Now, Marvin, you’re going to stretch his arms clean out.” Thinking about his mama and daddy made him sad.
They’d reached the small alley Bill had told him to be on the lookout for. “Shortcut,” he said to the old man.
“Thank you.” Bill’s walk slowed. “You all right there, little man? You sound sad.”
“Just thinking about my mama. She died.”
“Well. That is sad.” Bill slowed just a hair more. The alley, he knew, would dead-end at a brick wall. He’d slept there a few times. “I could take the sad right out of your head if you want.”
“How you gonna do that?”
“Come on over here and I’ll show you.”
Isaiah was dubious. It wasn’t just that his auntie had told him about being careful with strangers; Blind Bill wasn’t a stranger, exactly. There was just a moment’s pause, something deep down that made him wary, but he followed Bill anyway.
“Not much of a shortcut, Mr. Johnson. Got a brick wall at the other end.”