biography of a face, memoir of a waist

in the bus station there was a homeless man on a bench. at least, i'm pretty sure he was homeless. yes, he must have been quite homeless. he met the requirements: tattered clothes, an aura of loneliness, boots that looked more sad than old. and he was sleeping in public.

with legs crossed at the ankles and arms spread and splayed, he was a bird caught at soaring altitude. to fly north again after a long winter or to head further south -- which one was logical? which was correct? the answer didn't matter; he chose to stay, to wait.

he didn't have glasses nor did he look comfortable. but here's the thing: his face was fluorescent. I will use a cliche so that you may understand: his face was utter porcelain. he had a totally clean and well-trimmed beard tucked in between his ears, two great hoods of eyes that matched the hue of his skin, and hair that almost met his shoulders. while on my way to the bathroom I noticed him; I cannot say I wasn't bewildered.

I don't quite know why the cleanliness of this man's face struck me as so significant. it wasn't for a reason as palpable as finding beauty in small places. it was more, perhaps, that it was the face I wanted, a face that remained comfortable and at peace while fixed in midair. as I boarded the bus I realized I was heading south to new york and would soon head back north. and I understood that there was something just plain good about hanging in suspension for a while longer than necessary. there's something about the view. there's something about what's lost. (there's always something lost.)

and so sometimes it's better to linger. here is how you should proceed: stand before the tightrope that hangs between two structures and look down at the street below. imagine yourself falling. does it feel better than you had expected? perhaps it's because the act is so natural: the invitation to roll down a hill, the observation of a plane in descent, the pouring of milk from a bottle. now stand with one foot secure and one outstretched and balanced. close your eyes or keep them open. feel the wind hit your back as it forks around your waist. wait for the music to cue you onward. do you see? sometimes this is better. better than a running start, better than the imminent tumble.