BLANK CANVAS

 

Is “milky” a complexion? I mean, this dude was so ‘milky’, his skin looked skimmy. He had a shock of that white-blond hair , like a powder-puff-wig, with the eyebrows and lashes, that disappear into his face, like they didn’t exist or belong there in the first place. So, is that ‘picture’ enough for you? Chalk. Milk. Plain yogurt…white. A portrait would be a blank canvas.

And this isn’t a racial thing…no black & white thing. It’s just bizarre, an exception to the rule…like an albino in a snowstorm. And you talk to him and it’s like…snow, too, you know? You reach out and a flake lands, but it’s there one second, and melts the next. You don’t know what you’re getting. 

His words are within context but not connected. Nothing is connected. 

 

I didn’t touch him, no reason to really, he was approachable, but at a distance…a space…and a handshake was out of the question. That was understood.  But I sense if there were an embrace, it would be chilling, so, to be fair, I too, kept my distance.

There wasn’t any effort on his part to partake in idle conversation. No ‘shooting the breeze’ while we wait. He stood off to one side and was respectful, I’ll say that much. It was difficult… uncomfortable…the wait.

They dimmed the hall lights. Still we stood in solemn silence. No breaking this mood. 

They finally wheeled her out at 3:12 in the morning. The train leaves at 6:30. It would be close, but they’ll make it. She wanted to be Home. The iceman would escort the body. 

With little time, and a rushed goodbye, she was gone.

V