Character Sketch #10

He’s very tall; I imagine him hitting his head on door frames and ceiling beams–at least, when he was a younger man with straighter posture. His voice is warm and thick and soothing: and auditory bath in caramel sauce. Square, even white teeth smile at me. Talking to him makes me miss my grandfather. 

He smiles at the world as he walks by; none of the shitstorm of life touches him. I see him every day I work. He’s always the same–big, bright, beaming smile for everyone else. I wonder if he cries at night. 

I hear him making empty promises even though he failed to show up today. I don’t know how many days his kiosk has been left untarped, the TV he was so proud to play demo DVDs on looping through the sales pitch over and over and over again. Do you have back problems? Trust me, I’m a doctor. He isn’t a doctor. Trust me. 

Her mouth moves steadily as she walks by, one hand holding the department store bag high aloft, the other waving aimlessly at her medium length blonde hair, freshly pressed at the salon. She could be counting steps, or she could be practicing a lecture, or she could be tasting the excuses she’ll give her husband for maxing out the credit card yet again. 

The baby in the stroller chirps like a bird as her mother pushes ever onward towards the food court. The salvation of dinner is at hand. 

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