Getting Ready For Dinner

Gazing into the mirror, all he could see was his silk bow tie . . . cross, down, around, up the rabbit hole, pull, loop, through the whole, pull, straighten. How many times had he performed this ritual that his father had painstakingly taught him so many years ago. How many times had he created this faux barrier between his head and his body, between his mind and his heart.

Stepping back, pieces of his reflection came into view. His beard, which has been his face’s companion for half a century, no longer held any trace of the earth-brown that it had been in the beginning or the salt and pepper that it had been for so many years, for now it was a simple, uniform white. Still, he like it and, although over the years he had often thought of shaving it off to give his chin and jaw its time in the sun, he had never done so. Perhaps it was the reaction of his wife who, having never known him with a naked face, feigned agreement whenever he threatened to do the deed, but in reality, he could no more lose his beard than he could walk naked in the street for it gave him a certain protection and comfort.

Beneath the beard, he clenched his facial muscles ever so slightly so that his lips pulled outward to form that semi-smile that, at some point many years ago, had replaced the full-toothed grin of his youth. He liked to think of it as his modified, without the teeth showing, Cheshire cat grin, that conveyed a wisdom that had been earned through years or experience, but in reality, he had never liked his teeth for although he had not been a smoker, they were more yellow than white (his doctor having told him once that his bones probably were the same color, but he never would know if that was the case), and they were full of spaces and sharp points rather than the uniform soldiers found in so many other mouths.

With a subtle shift of position, he was able to see his nose that looked as if it had been taken from a different batch of clay and plopped onto his face for its was always redder than the surrounding territory. He alternated between being fascinated by the ever- changing shades of red displayed on his nose to being saddened by the peaks and valleys that formed and vanished from time to time.

Another slight shift brought his eyes into view. At least they had not been drained of their blue color although areas of earthy brown continued to expand. Perhaps that was a sign of becoming more grounded with age, but just as likely it was a sign that his mind’s eyes spent less time soaring into sky and more time contemplating the reality of life on the ground. Though he often thought of looking skyward more often, daily life required a focus at ground level just for survival.

With one more backward movement, he could see his entire head. As a young child, his head had been covered with a thin layer of crew cut hair over which he could run his hand to create a feeling of electricity. Later, he had let it grow to shoulder length, as was the style for so many who wanted to show independence and rejection of standards, only later to realize that it simply was an acceptance of other standards. Then, sometimes after having conformed to the adult business standard, the hair war had begun with some strands surrendering their color first to silver-grey and then to white, and some strands simply choosing to leave and in doing so expose the surface.

Then, with a slight tilt and nod of the head, and a half wink-like approving smile, he turned and walked away for it was dinner time and he long ago had made it a practice not to be late for dinner. He thought about the thousands of dinners of his life. As a young child, the time for dinner was signaled by his suited father walking into the house with a newspaper under his arm and a Jack-In-The-Beanstalk giant bellow of “I’m home, I’m hungry and what’s for dinner?” always followed by a smile, a laugh, a kiss for mother and a hug for the children. Later, dinner was a catch as catch can affair, but those were the days when mealtime was just an interruption in a busy day’s schedule. That had changed with the addition of children for dinner that became the window to the ever-changing landscape of daily life, and the joy and laughter of being surrounded by family and youthful laughter. And when the children were gone, dinner became a time of reflection on the day and on the earlier years, and a time for thinking about the days to come.

And now, dinner had become the focus of the day for it offered familiar faces and connection, but only when one was timely. So, with a hunched shuffle that had long ago replaced the child’s gleeful skipping, the teen’s cool sauntering, the man’s upright, prideful walk, he left his alleyway home and moved to the back of the line of life storied, forgotten men forming at the door to the homeless center food mission.