My Kind of Person

He's the kind of person who reaches behind him after stepping off an elevator, extending his arm to hold it open for you. As if it was a grocery store entrance, and you, arm-full of packages. As if the elevator wouldn't have waited its usual ten seconds before contracting its doors. He's that kind of person. You know, the extra nice kind.

The kind that does it just for the gesture of it, for the sentiment.

I am not that kind of person.

My deal is watching. When I have to, I'll listen—but it's much more interesting to watch.

I've named him Phil, this pudgy fellow with an ageless face—a face I imagine is shaped from dough each morning at first light, and rubbed with oil before meeting the heat of day—because it is a soft, round name. Every afternoon he passes, sometimes hurrying along towards the crosswalk, sometimes observing his feet or pausing, as if remembering a poem. Always, he wears a tie—even on Fridays when men usually go open-collared.

Phil owns two pairs of shoes. He alternates between brown and black slacks, with coordinating shoes and like-minded reversible belt. He enjoys the color blue, but his favorite tie is yellow.

All of this I can tell because I watch. No, more to the point, I observe.

And I’ve come to observe there is something specious about Phil. It's something in his walk, in the way he is so quick to smile at a passer-by. His motives escaped me for months until I recognized his kindness as a Band Aid to his wounds—injuries that drag his eyes to his feet, distract his attention from the wind-blown clouds or the noisy traffic, keep him noosed in a necktie all week long.

It makes me wonder, is Phil the kind of person to hold my kind of secret? Is he, also, haunted? Is there an unspoken understanding between us, an intimate knowledge which pushes Phil along, hustling by never once to notice me sitting day after day on the Peterson's bench? Am I his shadow?

And I wonder once again what kind of person we are.

Phil moves across the street and gestures hello to another stranger.