Blind Boy Billy was an author of some renown, in his advanced years, living alone in a flat just off the main street of Fairhope. The “Blind Boy” nickname was an affectionate moniker his fans had bestowed upon him after publication of his bestseller, “Going Blind In America”.
When his wife dumped him for a younger writer he employed the services of an assistant, Ingrid. Her duties were to tidy the apartment as needed every day and to ensure that his authorial dictation equipment was functioning properly. His fans eagerly awaited his yearly novels and were rabid in their devotion to his works.
Blind Boy Bud was also an author of some repute, known for obscure and often prickly musical works and prose. He had a small but loyal audience. Those fans tended to be more reserved and cynical when anticipating his new work. His “Blind Boy” moniker was the result of his manager convincing him that sympathy could be monetized effectively, and a tie-in with Blind Boy Billy would be advantageous. Many of his works over the years consisted of musical collaborations with Blind Boy Billy.
He also lived alone in a flat just off Fairhope’s main street and employed an assistant, Sophie, to assist in his household requirements and artistic endeavors. The Blind Boys had known each other since high school and had gone blind in their advanced years.
One June morning Blind Boy Billy stepped from his front door, his cane sweeping and probing side to side before him. He proceeded to amble on up the street, his destination a warm inviting coffee shop where he could sit comfortably, sip espresso, and eavesdrop on conversation around him.
As he strolled he heard music in the air. He realized the sounds were familiar and paused to listen more carefully. ‘Damn!’ he thought. Those are my words and the wailing guitar is that of Blind Boy Bud! This is excellent! My lawyers tell me he owes me royalties.’
Blind Boy Bud sat in the morning sun upon his favorite busking stool, his guitar crying out and his elder voice filling the main street with the sounds of a song he’d written with his old pal Billy, a ditty titled “A Sunset Saga“, a tale populated with elf and mouse characters pondering ineffables.
A tin cup sat before him on the sidewalk filled with coins and bills. Upon his guitar’s closing chord he heard a familiar voice shouting, “You owe me royalties you mystic guitar hack! But I did like what I heard!”
Blind Boy Bud quickly responded with a raspy, “What the hell! It’s that septic thorn Blind Boy Billy! Why aren’t you at home seducing your comely assistant with your poetry?”
“I heard a mistake in your rendition!” Blind Boy Billy shouted. “Didn’t your assistant like your serpent song before you left home, royalty thief?”
Just then a fleeting sparrow crashed against an adjacent storefront and fell wounded into the tin cup. It’s wings fluttered and a cry was heard from it’s beak. Both Blind Boys looked sightlessly into each other’s eyes and cried out in unison, “Damn!”
Blind Boy Billy shouted, “Judging by it’s cry it’s a wounded sparrow. Let’s take it to be healed by that gal at the pharmacy. She’ll know what to do.”
“Let’s go,” Blind Boy Bud uttered. ”I’m almost out of my supply of dependz.” Blind Boy Billy responded, “My stash is low too. We’ll save the bird and our reputations in one shot. Afterward what do you say to hitting Joe’s Liquors for some spiritual assistance?”
“You’re on the track old pal. Let’s go!” Blind Boy Bud asserted as he slung his guitar over his shoulder, hoisted his stool, while Blind Boy Billy cradled in his hands the tin cup where the wounded sparrow lay upon coins and bills.
CP Butchvarov
2023
Copyright © 2023 by CP Butchvarov