The sun was a white-gold disk against the clear azure sky. She got out of her car humming the Alex Bugnon ditty Harlem on my Mind. Then she saw him and her heart lifted.
He stood there polishing the windows of his truck with slow even strokes. A watermelon smile split his brown face at her approach. He wasn't a handsome man- his nose was like a hawk's beak and his eyes were too piercing for comfort- but he had a presence that made you notice him. His movements were smooth, never hurried, but precise, smooth and efficient.
He said little, but listened well, giving the impression that everything you said was of interest to him.
She wondered idly if he made love as smoothly, precisely and efficiently as he did everything else. But- she was not willing to risk what little self-esteem she had left to find out.
If asked she would have described him as a strong but gentle man; someone who has mastered the knack of living with himself.
He was a man of tremendous faith, however. Time after time, she watched him get knocked down by life only to utter a prayer and get back up. They comforted one another with prayer and conversation through trouble and sorrow forming the tenuous bonds of friendship.
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