Joe

I’m sorry I keep bringing up the ones I’ve lost, it’s as I keep introducing you to people who have already left the room.  Nonetheless I do think I should introduce you to my neighbor Joe Henry.

Joe liked being taken to baseball games.  I’d lead him through the turnstile at the minor league stadium and up to the cheap seats where he’d sit and listen to the announcer.  Sometimes I’d fill in the details of the game, but I don’t think he came for the action on the field.  He’d just sit there smiling, turning his head from side to side and sniffing occasionally, sifting through the various layers of sensory perception to be experienced at the ballpark. 

            One day I closed my eyes and joined him for a while.  After a few minutes I became adept at isolating different sounds, then different smells, holding them out in my minds eye and examining them before moving on to the next experience.  The beer smell from the row below us was first, then the laughing talk of the beer drinkers, then the operatic baritone of the vender bringing the beer.  From there I leapt away to the birds chattering at the edge of the stands, the snap and flutter of the flags that surrounded the stadium and finally to Joe right next to me.

            Joe smelled like popcorn and old shirt and out-of-fashion aftershave.  I could hear him sniffing, drawing twice as much information as I did with every sniffle.  I opened my eyes and saw him smiling.

            “Beautiful day for a ball game, eh Andy?”

            “Sure is, Joe.  Absolutely beautiful.”