By Michael Van Veckhoven
INSPIRED BY ART PIECE
“Just a Little Shave”
If
God has a smell, it can be found in a small child’s hair. The breath of heaven
is there, the very scent of all that is good and unspoiled.
We were sitting on the couch watching TV and he was feeling
around my face, fascinated with the stubble of beard emerging there.
“Dad, are you growing a beard?”
“No, I just need to shave.”
“Oh. When will I get to start shaving?”
“It’ll be a while.”
“Aw, man. I wanna shave tonight before bed. Can we?”
“I don’t know about that. We’ll see.”
He was studying me as he always did, imitating my every
move. I would cross my legs on the coffee table; he would cross his. I would
sneeze, he would try to sneeze.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Oh, not long. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Will they have Sponge Bob there?”
“Probably so.”
We sat together. I held him close, smelling him and
trying to absorb every fiber of him. I wouldn’t be able to smell a photograph.
That night we ate a fine dinner of steak, wild rice,
salad and bread. I grilled the meat to perfection, him mesmerized by the plumes
of smoke and the flames that kissed the meat. I realized then, our eyes locking
in to each other, that our bond was unbreakable, that I would die for him.
He cleaned his plate and told me it was the best meal
he’d ever had. She was getting up to do the dishes, fighting back tears. I
didn’t want him to see any tears.
“How about that shave, big boy?”
“You mean it? Yes!”
He sprang from the kitchen table and ran towards the
bathroom. When I came in he was already standing on the stepping stool with the
water running.
“Ready, Dad.”
I opened the drawer and took out a razor, a can of
shaving cream, and a washcloth and held the cloth under the warm water. He was
watching me in the mirror, smiling.
“Can I put the cream on myself?” I can do it.”
I sprayed some of the shaving cream into his open palm
and he smoothed it over his cheeks, then above his lip and around his chin. He
stayed perfectly still while I held his face and went over it with the razor,
slowly.
“Okay, man. You’ve got a fresh shave now.”
“Just like Dad?”
“That’s right. Just like Dad.”
He stared at me in the mirror and then at the uniform
that hung on the wall behind us. I knew he was about to ask me something.
“Hey, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me again where it is you’re going tomorrow.”
“It’s across the ocean. Very far and lots of sand.”
“Oh, yeah. And you’re going to get the bad guys?”
“Yep. Going to get the bad guys.”
“Wow. I’m real proud of you, Dad.”
“I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, trying to
take in the smell.