Onion Blooms

Ebeneezer spent every morning kicked back on the wood bench just outside the Tree House Café. He’d sit, cross his legs, smoke and watch people. And though his name was long and famous, we all called him Nee.

Nee would light one Pall Mall with the next. His white beard was yellowed from the habit. His black scarf, wrapped tight at his neck, hid the scar on his throat, a lesson about smoking that he failed miserably to learn. His fingernails, always dirty, wore the day’s gardening tasks deep into their cracks. His muck boots flaked clay-like soil to the ground in front of him. The size 11 prints, ever present, marked his territory.

Nee lived up-town, and I lived down near the water; The other side of the tracks I suppose you could say. And when we would meet and visit, we always met in the middle. Being a professor of philosophy, Nee always helped me grapple with the big questions. Knowing him changed my life.

On this particular day, my approach was slow. I took each step gingerly so as not to aggravate the newly minted bruises that decorated my thighs.  

He saw me. Lifted his cigarette to his lips, pulled gently and made the tip glow bright with anticipation of my approach.

“Hey girl. Little bit gray of a day to be wearing sunglasses, isn’t it?” he asked, glancing away only momentarily. Meeting my eyes again, I could see the crease between his brows, a cavern of concern.

I turned my swollen blue eyes across the street to the old hotel and focused on the black and white photos, blown up and posted outside, showing the settling of our tiny mining town. I always looked for my family in those photos, never finding them.  

My finger fondled the hole in my old worn-out winter jacket, and I chewed on my fat split lip. “Yeah….. It is a gray day.” I sighed. “He’s gone now though,” I said in almost a whisper. “So, it’s brighter for me.”

“Did you follow my advice? What I told you last summer?” he asked.

I let my eyes wander briefly back to his face. “Yes, sir.” I said, looking down then at my dirty and cracked chucks. The mud around the white plastic sole flaked off like a wasp’s nest with each shuffle of my feet.

“Good. Old Miss Margaret up the valley is ready for you,” he said. Taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing it out in rings. “You need to borrow Grizelda?” he asked.

My eyes slid to the old rusted green pick-up parked at the end of town, the back half-full of garden equipment and dirt.

“If you don’t mind, I’d be much obliged.” I said, finally taking a seat next to him.

He nodded then. Only once. Pulling the keys from his coat’s deep pocket, he held them out. “You know how to drive a stick?” he asked, quietly this time. “I do. Gramps taught me to drive his old international truck when I was just barely tall enough to reach the clutch. We used to pick up hay bails in the summertime.”

“I see. Well then, off you go. Feel free to use the tools, gloves and boots I have back there. Your feet, shoes and all, oughta fit right in them. And be sure to plant some bulbs, like I told you to,” he finished with a wink.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and stood to take my leave. “What are your favorite bulbs, Nee?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he said, sighing deeply. “I am pretty fond of ornamental onions. They remind me of some people. Their blooms are colorful and beautiful at first, but then, at the end of a long season, they resemble a virus. Something deadly, always in there, we just have to wait for their façade to weather away.”

“Onion blooms, huh? Well sounds about right for my garden then,” I said, and walked to Grizelda to run my errand.

Miss Margaret had prepped the hole just round the bend at the end of her mile-long drive. Dug in the fall, before the freeze hit, it was plenty deep. She showed it to me, we both kicked the pile while we avoided talking about the elephant, and we decided I’d be able to shovel it back in alone. Her smile, missing the teeth her husband had knocked out years ago, never reached her eyes. They rested on my swollen face, and before she turned to go, she put both hands on my cheeks and pulled me to her. Her whisper smelled of whiskey and bacon. “You ain’t never been here,” she said, and turned to walk briskly to her house.

After I moved him out, and the garden I was never allowed to have in my yard was planted with tulips and daffodils and onion blooms, I drove back up-town to find Nee. He sat with old man Ralph on the bench, the topic as best I could tell as I approached, was potato recipes.

Ralph looked up at me when I stopped in front of them. “Nice shiners,” he said, a look of fury briefly crossing over his eyes. “You kick him out yet?” he asked.

“Yup. Just gave him a ride out of town. He won’t be back,” I said.

Ralph nodded then, his bald head bobbing. “’Bout God Damn time,” he said. He stood, patted Nee on the shoulder, put on his hat and turned to shuffle up town.

I sat next to Nee then, my back aching from the effort of gardening, and with dirt spilling out of my messy blond hair, I slipped Grizelda’s keys into his hand.

“Grizzy give you any trouble?” he asked, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. He offered the pack to me. I took one, let him light it, and inhaled deeply.

“Nope. She ran like a dream.” Then, after a long moment of silence, “Thank you for letting me use your tools for my garden,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” Nee said.

I sat back then, crossed my legs and tried to forget the sound of scraping frozen ground onto the onion bloom.