Monday, April 23, 2007

THE TOUCH

His Clothing was unremarkable, as was everything else about him. No one noticed him arriving or leaving. No one knew the color of his eyes, the sound of his laugh. The thump of his footprints. His smell. His thoughts. He had never blown out a birthday candle, made a wish or a toast, opened a present. Never given nor taken anything. Never offered, never asked. Never broke a rule. Never argued.

He took care of his own needs. Shopped, cooked, cleaned. Always in the same time, place, manner. No surprises. Cut his own hair, had no need for a doctor or dentist. What he was was what he was. What he knew was what he knew. Period.

And then one day everything changed. He slipped on an icy patch. Fell. A woman swooped down, helped him up, touched him. He was in a daze. How strange to be touched. It almost hurt. More so than his elbow. She gently pulled back his sleeve, looked into his eyes, saw his soul. She hustled him into her house, dabbed at his scrape with iodine. "This will sting," she warned gently. Bandaged him caringly. She kissed him on the forehead and sent him on his way, never knowing what she had done.

The next week he went to a barber. His elbow was still stiff and it wouldn't do to let his hair get unruly. It was time. He marveled at the caress of someone's fingers on his scalp, running through his hair. He tried to hide from the small talk behind his newspaper. Felt awkward. A funny, buzzy feeling ran through him.

Stopped in a restaurant. Marveled at being asked what he wanted. Being waited on. Having his needs noticed and cared for. He left his first tip and was surprised by the good feeling he left with. At the corner, a baby smiled at him, and he smiled back. There was almost a bounce to his step and he started to hum. "Shine your shoes, mister ?" He sat breathing in the smells, hearing the sounds, seeing the sights. And feeling. Feeling hands on his feet. Touching him. Touching him. Feeling. Feeling…

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