Discover other titles by Buffy Greentree at www.100firstdrafts.com
Cover Photograph adapted from original by Tanya Harding at stock.xchng
***
John Verry
I want you to meet a man. He is a simple man. He lives a life that I could plot out for you from the angle of his toothbrush to the length of his favourite song. And then you would presume to know him. Should I let you in on a secret? I can’t quite understand him.
Mr. John Verry had once heard the expression ‘live everyday as if it were your last’, and he had taken it to heart. Unlike most, the outcome of this decision for Mr Verry was that he lived everyday exactly the same as the one before.
Every morning at 7.25am he would wake up in time to listen to the 7.30 report. He would wish Buffy good morning, walk into his bathroom and close the door behind him. His radio would start filling the room with the deep, monotone voice of the news announcer. This was John’s favourite part of the day. Standing on the red bathmat he would remove his pyjamas, starting with the shirt, then the singlet, working his way down to the drawstring tie of his striped pyjama pants, and finally to his Y-front underwear. He would stand there, with his clothes carefully folded in the corner, and enjoy the feeling of the heat lamps on the back of his shoulders. He would first have a shower and then stand once more on the bathmat to dry off. Then it was the measurements.
John had found that from his nose to his widow’s peak, and then to either side, was the most accurate way to keep track of his receding hairline. He would then roll his head to the left three times and then to the right three times to estimate stiffness. Working down his body, additional ounces of fat were recorded, along with his torso rotations. John would try each morning to increase his flexibility at touching his toes, but had to admit that in recent weeks, maybe months, his toes were definitely getting further away. Laying his hand on the back of a chair, he would work his quadriceps muscles by doing squats, feeling the air from the heater flow between his legs, in what had to be a healthy and rather enjoyable way. He would then start on his feet.
John’s feet were very important to him. Every man must look after his own feet. So he would sit down on the chair and start the routine. A cotton bud would surgically wipe between each toe, removing anything that had built up. John had once believed that there was a little fairy that put the fluff between his toes. While he did not quite believe it now, he still told himself this as he wiped. He would then clip each nail. Through time, his eye had become accustomed to the millimetre length he wanted, so he no longer used any form of measuring device, which he had to admit had been very messy to begin with, and rather painful. Then he would apply the powder.
John enjoyed this time of what he liked to think of as man at one with nature, ie. naked. He would often find himself sitting there massaging the foot powder in with visions of a primeval form of himself running along grassy plains unreliably catching up with wild buffaloes. But finally his sense of time tabling would compel him to keep moving. He would be dressed, tie done just so and hair parted down the centre, before he would unlock the bathroom door, turn off the heat lamp behind him and step out into the world as he knew it. John’s world extended from the boundary of the front door, to the barrier of the back. John had never had any desire to cross either of these thresholds, and greatly enjoyed the play within.
He would hum quietly to himself as he made his usual lunch, tuna and chicken sandwiches. Hello John, how were your measurements today? John would turn to Buffy and they would exchange commonplace.
‘Not getting as far as I used to with my toe bends.’ John would comment. Buffy had thought he might not be. He would then set out the breakfast table; tray with tea pot and milk jug in front and slightly to the right, cereal box off to the left, bowl centred, and fruit on the side dish ready to be centred after the cereal bowl had been cleared away. He would start his only CD, and Mozart’s Allegro Vivace Assai (6:45 minutes), followed by Andante (7:11 minutes) and then Allegro (13:49 minutes) would gently waft from the next room. Spreading out his newspaper, John dedicated the next twenty seven minutes to eating with minute care.