Emile

Every man needs a habit. Some men have habits they burn, others have habits they guzzle, some men have habits delivered on their porch by boys early in the morning. Every man needs a habit, so I wander.
I don't wander as far as when I was young, old heels hurt faster and I can't much bring myself to leave this place. I don't particularly love it here, more than say any other coast I've seen; I'd honestly like to go back Home, but I’m sure it's been burned down or wrecked down since those young years. My house here is all right I suppose, but it's not all right enough to glue me to the porch and watch the traffic.
So I wander.
Evening is best, it's much too hot in any time before then, and the dark night scares me because a man can get to the point where he says to hell with being brave and just accepts being afraid of things that scare him.
I grew in the years before you wore whatever was in the dresser drawer that morning and called it fine, and I like to keep a hold of what past I can, because I honestly don't know when it'll all slip out my ears and onto my pillow or shoulders; so I stick to my dark slacks and white shirt, plus I've always never enjoyed being under dressed for an occasion and who ever knows when an occasion will happen? Though nearly all the white shirts I had have been ruined while I learned to press and wash them here in the past few months. I used to have 3, and well...now at least I have the washing part understood.
My father was a barber, owned his own shop with the candy cane pole in a town outside of Boston. When I was just a small boy I remember getting a hold of his razor and sharpening leather and trying to run it up and down that leather just like him and ran it up but not down on my arm instead. I've still got that scar, got six damn stitches even. Years later my father taught me how to do it proper, how to make up the lather and run a strait blade across my whiskers. In all the years that I've shaved I've only nicked myself one time, but I swear that old blade made up for lost time and nearly made me late the day we put Maddy on down.
I wipe the excess lather off my face and look in the mirror. In my head I'm looking at a picture, I haven't felt like I was looking at myself in what some people call a short life time. I don't remember my vision ever being wider than it is now, but my eyes sag at the corners, and I used to have to raise my eyebrows or smile to draw these lines on my face. Now I just stare and they're everywhere and they get deeper when I show anything with my face; it's like I'm a hound without a snout or the floppy ears.
I have to sit down to put on my pants now like a damn old man, though I suppose I am a damn old man. Came about a few years ago. I've never shaved with a shirt or pants on, felt awkward to me when I started, feels awkward to me now, probably feel awkward to me when I'm dead too. I pull my shirt off the pressing table beside the bed without getting up and slide it on then get up to tuck it in, then walk on over to my belt draped over the back of the chair in the bedroom. I never understood the point of a chair in the bedroom, but Maddy liked having one so I have one. It's a new belt, the old one's buckle pulled out a couple days ago nearly exactly. As I'm pushing the prong through the new leather my eyes glance a little up and to the left; over the half curtain and out to the outside. It's nearly evening now but not quite my evening; the light just isn't quite orange enough. If there's one thing that I can say I love about Florida, it's that orange in the evening sky. They certainly got that Sunshine State bit right.
I sit on the bed again and slide on my shoes then go back to the bathroom towards the sink. I turn both the knobs on the sink and wait a few seconds then stick a couple fingers under the pour and turn the H knob a bit. I open the mirror when it's right and pull out my comb and run it under the warm water then through my hair, all back. It was all back the day I met Maddy, It was all back the day I married Maddy and it'll be all back in my coffin. Like I said, every man needs habits.
My hair fixed, I turn around and slowly amble out of the bathroom and head for the front door; should be my time of evening about now. I step out my door and walk down my house’s little walkway onto the sidewalk and go right. As my wandering begins I hold my hands behind my back, I’ve always found it funny how people swing their arms and just feel damned dopey doing it myself is a reason; but the main reason is I have trouble wandering without holding someone’s hand and since Maddy’s skinny fingers can’t twine up with mine I’ll tether mine onto mine.
I try to look ahead and without too much to the side when I wander, but I’ve lately noticed that I’ve noticed my shoes a great deal more. I sure hope I’m not turning into one of those old hunchbacks, I don’t think I am, I just think sad eyes are harder to hold up.
I hold them up and I see some young thing on a bike. It’s a pretty thing and it looks like it’s from my young years which sure knocks me for a loop. Dark hair all curled about her face wearing a snug skirt that could have been Maddy’s when we met. The young thing is riding down the street on some bike that looks old enough to be my brother. I deepen my wrinkles before opening my mouth.
"Lovely Evening”
Pretty little thing of retro wonder smiles and rides by and turns her head to inspect me. My heart would have stopped fifty years ago, and fourth months ago Maddy would have laughed and told me I wasn’t as young as I used to be and I would contend I was just being friendly.
I keep wandering further on down the street; I’m nearly to the end of where my address is when I stop. I stare at the streetlight and I think of all my wandering, not this street I walked tonight but just all the wandering. Purposeful wandering, lackadaisical wandering, scared wandering, wandering to get away and the wandering I did when I didn’t even know I was wandering. I suppose I’ve been wandering near my whole life, and I can near say my whole life with it being true. Sure some wouldn’t call it a wander all the time, most people don’t wander to and from a job or to and from a love. But I do and I did. Most people don’t wander much at all really, especially today with all the directness. I’d say I never jetted, I never ran and I never trotted; I wandered. To Maddy’s arms, to the kitchen in our old house, wandered to not enough parts of the world, out the door and away from Home, wandered my father’s blade into my arm and wandered my eyes out the window this past evening. Sure I would think of where my very next footfall was going to land, but could I say I’ll be on that sidewalk square three squares up? No. I could test my soles in the grass or cross the street. Hell, I could drop dead staring at this street light thinking about how if I were a book people could easily flip the page and maybe read the end, and how I notice my shoes more now that Maddy’s on down on the other side of town.
So I wander foreword.