* * *
Of Potholes &
Smashed Potatoes
con’t from Ghosties
The thin man and I
stop talking and watch the cop watching us.
His head swivels ever sideways as he moves on. I hold my breath and will him to
continue. I see his bushy moustache
twitching, as he slows even more and I’m surprised he hasn’t come to a complete
stop. Will he or won’t he?
* * *
THE THIN MAN
“Hello,” says the
sweaty man again and I reply in kind.
“Hot today,
eh?” I say.
“Oh man,” says he,
“I hope we get to a place soon which has some shade. My dog is really feeling the heat today.”
“I can imagine he
would with that fur coat he has on”. I’m
glad I caught up with you. I want to
offer you some fresh, cold water.”
His eyes light up
and he exclaims, “Oh, I’ll take a couple of bottles off your hands, if you have
‘em...”
I explain, “I
don’t have bottles, but if you have something to put the water in, you’re
welcome to what I have.”
He says, with
barely suppressed excitement, “Oh yes, I have a bunch of ‘um.” and sprints to
the child trailer (up close, I can see it’ll fit 2 kids). He rummages around for a minute and comes up
with three empty pop bottles, the two litre size. He comes back to the car and I open the trunk
to pull out the insulated water containers.
They’re pretty full but since I always freeze the water before I hit the
road, only so much of it is actually pourable.
I manage to fill up two of the bottles and a bit, spilling a little over
the thin man’s hands.
“Oh,” he says,
“it’s so cold.” His face wears an
anticipatory look and I know he’ll be taking a swig as soon as I leave.
“What’s your dog’s
name?” I ask as the 4-legged finally notices me and ambles over, done with
grazing, at least for the moment.
“Titus.” Hearing his name, Titus looks up at his
master and I see the adoration in his dark chocolate brown eyes. A strong bond these two have, like me and
Sofie.
“A noble name, for
a noble dog.” I say. “How old is he?”
“What kind is
he?” I ask, inquisitively.
“An Akita, you
know like the O.J. dog.”
Oh,
I think, he means the dog that was on the
scene when O.J. Simpson’s wife was killed.
I shiver as a goose walks over my grave and my joie de vivre drops a
notch. Not the most pleasant thought on
this beautiful day. I shake off the
image and start to close the trunk lid.
The thin man’s eye
light on the small cooler and he says, hopefully, “Titus is almost all out of
food…”
“Let me see what I
have.” I open the cooler and see the
foil-wrapped package. “Here”, I say
impulsively, “take these and a happy Thanksgiving to you. It’s the leftover turkey legs from last
night’s dinner.”
“Oh,” he exclaims,
“I get Thanksgiving turkey after all?”
And with that comment, I feel tears start into my eyes, and blink them
back quickly. Keeping my face averted, I
fumble around to find other things I could give him. There’s some fruit in the cooler and I give
that to him too. “Where are you biking
from?”
“Halifax”, is the
laconic reply.
“Wow, that’s a
ways away. Where are you heading?”
“Wow again.” I seem to be at a loss for words – unusual
for me.
“Any particular
reason?” I imagine an odyssey of some kind, you know, like Terry Fox or Rick
Hansen.
The man screws his
face up. I think he’s trying to find an
answer he wants me to believe is ‘normal’, and finally comes back with,
“Oh, vacation.”
but his faded blue eyes slip away from mine.
“Why Toronto?”
“That’s where I live”,
says the thin man. “My family used to
own a horse farm in the Highway 7 and Leslie area.”
“Oh, I know that
area well. It’s pretty close to where I
work. Have you been up that way
recently?”
“No,” he replies,
“I don’t go up there at all anymore.”
“Around 70 to 80
miles.”
“How far is it to
Halifax?” The thin man doesn’t answer my
question, so I ask another, “I’m guessing Titus rides in the trailer most of
the time?”
“Yes, he gets out
and walks when we go up hills and then whenever else he wants. Most of the time, though, he rides,
especially when it’s this hot.”
By now, I have a
sneaking suspicion that the thin man and his dog are homeless. The bedding, which covers the bottom of the
child trailer is far from clean and he seems to have a lot of stuff stored in
there. His appearance is also somewhat
of a giveaway, with what’s left of his greasy, light brown hair, scraped back
into a thin ponytail. The overall
yellowness of his teeth and the missing two front lower teeth speak to a lack
of a toothbrush and dental care. The
grayish stubble on his leathery-looking cheeks is probably about a week or two
old. And, by the wrinkles fanning out
from the corner of his eyes, I guesstimate his age to be, perhaps, in his late thirties,
early forties.
I’ve scavenged
everything there is in the trunk and wish I had more to give to the Thin Man.
He thanks me profusely and even Titus comes up to give me a sniff and consents
to letting me pat him. His coat, like
his master’s hair, is on the greasy side and he’s odiferously doggy but I keep
patting him and scratching under his chin, which he really seems to enjoy. I give him a few dog treats I have in my
pocket and he wolfs them down enthusiastically.
Handing the man the small plastic bag I’ve put Sofie’s treats in, I say,
“Here, take these for Titus. He’ll have
a Thanksgiving treat too.”
The Thin Man and I
say goodbye and I settle back in the car, ready to make tracks for home. As I drive away, I look in my rearview mirror
to see The Thin man give me a salute, by tipping the pop bottle to his
temple. As he turns back to Titus, the
bottle is at his lips and he takes a long drink of water. I wonder if we’ll ever see the Thin Man and
his dog again?
© 2019 UNDERCOVER CONFIDENTIAL aka PHYLLIS MAHON … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH CONTENT FROM THIS WEBSITE WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.
© 2019 UNDERCOVER CONFIDENTIAL aka PHYLLIS MAHON … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH CONTENT FROM THIS WEBSITE WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.
