Tightening the Belt of Time

The neck is drawn with a sharp pencil.  He smiles.  Happy greetings come from his mouth.  But more interesting is the way words escape.  If they were visible, they’d tumble out, spill down the front of his shirt, land near his feet in a soggy puddle.  The fingernails are broken at the end of long fingers.  He carries his bag of groceries with grunting steps.  Before he turns to leave, I notice his plaid shirt tucked neatly into his trousers.  The belt is synched down to the last hole.  The brown leather shows signs of wear.  One hole away, a vertical crease offers a glimpse into the past.  The next hole over, the worn leather is more noticeable.  The pattern continues two more holes.  

It’s windy out.  I wonder if there’s enough weight in his grocery bags to keep him steady.  I picture him teetering.  Those perfectly creased trousers and the trembling legs inside them with so much space on every side.

He manages to hold the door open for women, bends slightly at the waist as they pass.  They give him smiles.  He absorbs those smiles into his cheeks and wears them out into the parking lot.

Drivers wave him across.  He manages.  Despite the wind.  Despite the weight of the grocery bag.  Despite the thin knees that tumble around in his trousers.  It takes a disproportionate amount of time to pack the groceries into the truck.  There’s plenty of fumbling and rearranging, long pauses, catching of the breath, wiping sweat with a threadbare handkerchief.  Remnants of those women’s smiles maintain at the corners of his mouth.

Time is no longer on his side.  The second hand on his watch no longer revolves.  It sits, with a nervous twitch, between the five and the six o'clock hour.  I watch his car cough black smoke as the engine turns over.  The last bits of daylight make long weak shadows.  

I nod as he rolls away.  He doesn’t notice.  The car moves tentatively.  Part of me wishes he would hurry.  Another part admires his patience.  Time is almost done with him.  As the wheels twist around the corner, pulling out of sight, I realize that the man is not worried.  For him, the race against the clock has long since finished.