The Beard: Chapter One

His day started just like every other day with Bruce Springsteen blaring on his iPhone at 5:30 am. He sat up in bed, stretched, reached for his glasses, and slipped his feet into his cheap Walmart slippers, all in one smooth well-rehearsed move. Then he gingerly stood up, wincing from the pain of his plantar fasciitis. and limped to the stairs trying to avoid being knocked down by his over grown and overly excited mutt, Trooper, who cared about only one thing- getting outside to see if today was his lucky skunk chasing day.

He turned the light on over the stairs before limping to the loft to gently kick the balled up blanket in the middle of the floor to see if Sirshakesalot, his tiny mutt with the oversized ears, was curled up asleep pretending it was not time to get up and face the day. The pile wriggled before he reached it as Sirshakesalot rooted around trying to find his way out of the blanket. Gary bent down to free the little guy, rubbing his miniature black and white head when he was finally emancipated and stretching with a yawn that seemed too big to come from him. Then he led both dogs to the top of the stairs, and got ready to begin coaxing Sirshakesalot to go down them.

The stairs were a daily problem. Trooper would bound down about halfway and sit. Gary would have to give him a kick or step on his tail to get him to move out of the way. It had become a game for Trooper, but over time, it had started to give his owner murderous thoughts. There wasn't time for Gary to dwell on that because Sirshakesalot would stop at the edge of the stairs and refuse to come down at all. Today was no different. Gary looked up to see him laying there staring down at him with nervous eyes, his hound dog sized ears standing up like satellite dishes, and his whole tiny body quivering and shivering. Just exactly what he was afraid of, Gary had never been able to figure out. Sirshakesalot was afraid of a lot of things, none of which seemed to be present at stair time. Once he was coaxed down, he was suddenly happy and carefree, following Trooper on the daily jog to the back door.

When the dogs were safely outside, Gary went to the Keurig and pushed the switch to start the water heating, and without stopping, pivoted and headed to the downstairs bathroom to drain his kidneys. Once back in the kitchen, he dropped a K-cup into the coffee maker, set it to brew, and moved on to making his breakfast by dumping his pre-measured two cups of Cheerios into the Tupperware container holding his cup of nonfat powdered milk which he had mixed the night before and placed in the refrigerator to get cold. By that time, the coffee was brewed, so he quickly squeezed sixteen drops of EZ Sweet into the cup and seven drops into the Cheerios. He opened the sliding patio door slowly, sniffing the air for skunks before letting the dogs back in. He grunted a morning greeting at his wife, Libby, who had just come down stairs, grabbed the cereal and a spoon, and headed back upstairs, dogs in tow. The coffee would be for later.

He set the cereal bowl on the nightstand, grabbed his Kindle Fire HD, and headed for the john, were he would spend the next ten minutes checking email and Facebook. At exactly 6:00 am, he gave his ass a first wipe with toilet tissue before finishing the job with a Preparation H medicated wipe. Then, he stripped the rest of his clothes off and went to stand on the scale, which might as well just read “fat-ass" since it never seemed to show him a number below 247 pounds, no matter how much he dieted. Today was no different with a reading of 248. With a whispered, “Shit!" he ambled into the bedroom, sat naked on the bed and ate his Cheerios in as close to a catatonic state as is humanly possible.

Without bothering to wipe the stream of milk that had fallen onto his chest and slid down to his genitals, he grumpily headed into the shower. He liked taking his morning shower nowadays. The house had been completely gutted and remodeled a year earlier, and one result was this new fully tiled walk in shower where the old oversized bathtub used to be. The hot water fell onto him like rain from the eight-foot high shower head. It was too hot, like Libby liked it, so he twisted the handle to the right to bring the temperature down closer to lukewarm. He had never liked the feeling of hot water on his skin. But then, growing up, the water was never hot by the time his turn in the bathroom came around.

With the water just right, he started his morning concert. Although he would never appear on American Idol or The Voice, he could carry a tune. Besides, he really didn't give a rat's ass what he sounded like. He was in the frapping shower- not on stage somewhere. He sang for himself because singing felt good. He was kind of a song whore who didn't really care what he sang as long as he was singing. Today he started off with a classic Crazy and ended with Springsteen's Price You Pay before finally turning off the water and wiping down the shower with the small white towel designated for that duty. As he did every day, he chuckled to himself about the ritualistic cleaning patterns he and Libby had developed since the remodel. Before that happened, the house was such a pit that nobody bothered to clean some things. Hell, if you tried to wipe the old shower where the linen closet was now, you ran the risk of going through the section where he had done a shitty repair job allowing water to leak out and rot the wall behind the tiles. He was not much of a handyman.

Gary toweled off in the shower before stepping out naked and walking to the sink to shave while his beard was still soft. He eyed himself in the mirror and felt the usual tug of sadness over the fact that no matter how much weight he lost now, he would never have a body that he would be comfortable in without it being completely covered. There were still some rolls here and there, but those that had gone during his last major weight loss project hung down with that saggy look your get after letting the air out of a balloon. Only surgery would fix it, and he would never have the money or courage to face that, and knew from experience that he would, more than likely, re-inflate those areas in due time. Yes, he was going to be ashamed of his body for the rest of his life, no matter what efforts he made to be healthy. He briefly toyed with the idea of taking a naked selfie and posting it on Facebook just to be done with it. Let everyone see his shame. Let it go. But, Gary knew better than to act on his crazy impulses. His sanity was hanging on a thread. He knew it. He worked hard to make sure nobody else did.

He grabbed his razor and started to shave. He winced a bit, because his beard was not quite as softened as he had thought. Since he never used any shaving cream, he needed the coarse bristles of his beard to be as soft as possible. He ran hot water in the sink until it was nearly too hot to touch. Then he dropped the washrag into the sink to totally saturate it with the steaming water. This was the only time Gary liked hot water-to steam his face before shaving. He bent over the sink and held the wet washrag to his face like a flaming beard. He knew that in a few seconds the flame would go out, and he would have an easier time shaving. A moment of happiness shot through him as he remembered this was his last shave until Easter. Spring Break was next week, and he would use the time to start growing his beard for the church production of Walk Through Jerusalem, where he would once again play the part of Judas.

Gary didn't like growing a beard. The luxury of not having to shave every morning did not counterbalance the scruffiness he saw in the mirror or the unclean way it felt. His face sweated a lot during the course of a day. The constant soaking and salty drying made him feel like there was a layer of slime hiding behind the hairs. He also did not like the pain he would have after sleeping wrong on his face. The follicles would scream at him the entire day after being pressed against the grain on his pillow. He would count the days until his last performance, when he was free to go straight home and shave the beard. Every year, he swore he would not grow one the next year. But, here he was again, about to shave for the last time.

The hot steamy water did the trick, and he was able to shave quickly and smoothly, only nicking himself one time, when he got distracted and hit his lip by mistake. It didn't hurt enough to stop the momentum of his shave, and there wasn't enough blood to make him stop and doctor it. It was just one of many daily annoyances that seem to come his way more and more often lately. He blamed it on his advancing age, but knew it was just his usual inability to focus on anything entirely.

He dropped his razor into the black travel kit that always sat open by the sink as he performed his daily grooming ritual. He took a swig of Listerine which he would swish around his mouth continuously until after his hair was in place. He had become fairly high maintenance in his old age. He certainly never “did his hair" before. Now he reached for a tube of super gel, squeezed a dime-sized splat of it on his palm, and rubbed his hands together before smearing the gel all over his head. He left it uncombed, tweaking with a pinch and tug here and there until he had it exactly the way he wanted it. He would not touch his hair again, until after work, when he would brush the hell out of it to remove the gel. Until then, it would stay rock hard and immobile.

Gary hit the button on his phone to check the time. He did it every day after getting his hair ready only to see that he was, of course, on schedule. He was the proverbial creature of habit, and getting off schedule could change his already grumpy disposition to Hulkish heights. With plenty of time, he squeezed a gob of toothpaste on his sonic toothbrush and spent the next two minutes caring for his teeth. He knew it was two minutes because the brush would stop running then. Some days those two minutes seemed more like fifteen. It just depended on his mood. Today, it went by quickly enough that he was still in the mood to floss. He had never been a flosser before, but after getting a 4 during his last gum exam, he decided to work at developing the habit. Being the geek he is, he found an app for his phone that sent him reminders and kudos, that currently had him on a twenty-two day flossing streak.

A quick wipe of the bathroom counter and a moment spent stuffing his paraphernalia back under the sink, and he was off to the bedroom to dress for work. He didn't have to put any thought into dressing. He wore the same clothes every day: black pants and a polo shirt. The polo shirts were either navy blue or maroon, depending on which school was on his schedule for today. He had been split between schools for almost three years now. It no longer bothered him, although he still resented the double demands that the dual-school format brought his way.

He walked back to the bathroom to check himself one last time in the mirror. He did not like to see any of his fat rolls poking through his shirt. Today, it was a little too snug, so he pulled it back over his head and gave it a stretch with his hands before popping it back on. This time, he was happy enough to move on with his day. He turned off the box fan and light in the bedroom and headed down the stairs. He noticed again how Sirshakesalot always followed him down without coaxing on this particular trip each day. Trooper, however, stopped halfway down and nearly caused Gary to fall. He got a little harder kick than usual, but showed no concern. He gave his big dopey dog smile and ran down ahead of Gary and Sirshakesalot.

By the time he got to the kitchen, the dogs were already waiting to go out again for their final run until Gary got home after school. He let them out before replacing the used K-cup with a new one and brewing his second cup to pour into his first one, which had cooled a little while he was upstairs. As it brewed, he slid the freezer open and grabbed exactly four ice cubes which he tossed into the cup. When the fresh coffee stopped dripping into the cup, he moved it closer to him and stirred it with the iced tea spoon he kept by the pot for just that purpose. He stopped stirring when the ice had melted, and took a taste to see if it was sweet enough. This taste test was just another of his many rituals. The coffee was prepared exactly the same way every morning and could not be anything but perfect.

While the coffee cooled just a tad more, Gary started his lunch preparation. That involved the making of a quick sandwich with five slices of deli ham, a slice of cheese, a sliced hard-boiled egg, and a squirt of mustard. He dropped it into a zip-lock bag and grabbed a piece of fruit, throwing both into the bottom of his lunch box. He opened his green plastic ice container and dumped yesterday's melted ice water before putting a new scoop of ice in and replacing the lid. He slid the container into a larger zip-lock bag and tossed it on top of the items in his lunch box. Finally, he grabbed a few paper towels, folded them, and shoved them in the zippered compartment in front of the lunch box. He carried it with him on the way to let the dogs in and dropped it on the back of the sofa.

Sliding the door open was another delicate operation. Gary sniffed the air through an inch-wide crack, catching the light scent of skunk. Alarms went off in his head. Trooper had lost a battle with a skunk a few years before and made it into the house before Gary realized it. Libby had run downstairs naked, with a towel in front of her screaming that he was upstairs rubbing skunk all over everything. She was not exaggerating. Trooper, in a frenzy to relieve the misery the skunk had caused him, had rubbed against everything he could find. The house was a disaster zone. It would be about six months before the scent was finally gone. It would be another four months before humid days stopped bringing it back from its hidden places. Gary was not going to let that happen again.

Trooper was barking to come in. It was his normal “let me in" bark, but Gary didn't trust it. He turned on the patio light and opened the mini blinds that were sealed into the glass of the sliding doors. Both dogs were acting normally. Just in case, he hollered at Trooper to sit and squeezed out onto the patio sliding the door closed behind him. Trooper started to jump up on him, excited by the prospects of Daddy coming outside to play. A sharp “sit" command got him under control long enough for Gary to give him a good sniffing. Nope, no skunk. It was all clear. He slid the door open and let both dogs run in ahead of him.

With the dogs in, he turned, closed the door, and locked it. He knew where the dogs would be. It never varied. They had run straight to the pantry door to wait for their morning treat. It was so ingrained in them, that Trooper constantly asked to go out just hoping to get a treat when he came in. He never seemed to figure out that treats were only in the morning, before bed, and whenever he behaved while Gary towel dried him on rainy days.

Gary wasn't happy with the treats he found in the plastic bin on the lowest shelf of the pantry. Libby was not as generous at the store when buying for the dogs. She thought that Gary spoiled them outright. Instead of the expensive bacon flavored dental bones they loved, she purchased wimpy little sticks made up of compressed rawhide fragments. They were cheaper, but took no time at all for either dog to scarf down. Gary preferred to give those to little Sirshakesalot so he could eat his treat fast enough that Trooper would not have time to eat his own and come steal it from him. Even though Sirshakesalot had developed a frightening snarl for those situations, he could not thwart Trooper's efforts when the big bully decided to take something from him. Today Gary broke one of the sticks in half for Sirshakesalot, who flew off with it before he noticed Dad had given big brother a whole one.

A quick glance at the kitchen clock told Gary it was 6:25. It was almost funny how, no matter what happened on any given morning, it was always 6:25 am when the dogs got their treats, and Gary was actually ready to leave the house. He went to the front room and put the baby gate up at the foot of the stairs. Since the remodeling, the dogs were not allowed upstairs unsupervised. The second floor was mostly carpeted, and neither Gary, nor Libby wanted to live in a stinky pee-stained house again. Gate secured, he punched in the code for the alarm and went back to the den to collect his backpack and lunchbox. Then, saying goodbye to the dogs, he exited through the garage.