Leathery.
Helping a stranger haul a headboard from curbside trash to his nearby truck I found that the man was happily drunk in the middle of the day, the bright sun exaggerating spittle wedges at the corners of his mouth, his eyes reacting to the heavenly glare with tears as thick as honey and his smile baring sallow teeth.
I held up the lighter end of the headboard and he took the heavier when it slipped from his jittery hands and crunched to the road.
Our heroic efforts failed as the headboard cracked in two, but he thanked me generously and offered me a free lunch at his deli on 31st Street.
As we shook hands we noticed the blood. He had cut his hand on the headboard and the blood passed to my arm, covering my hand and forearm with a feeling of crinkly leather.
I had never had another human’s blood on my person. I could not wipe it off with the napkins the man produced from his back pocket. I asked if he was sick and he said no but before he even answered I dismissed the possibility of diseases passed through blood, which is made instantly sterile by contact with the air.
I bade the man goodbye and came home to find my trusty bar of Lava Soap (with Pumice) at the ready. Lava Soap is intended for use by the likes of machinists and mechanics and those whose hands get deeply dirty, so it amused a friend of mine who spotted Lava Soap in my bathroom.
Commenting on my livelihoods he said "I never knew that playing piano and composing and making web sites would make your hands get DIRTY."
It seemed un-funny to me at the time but now I see the humor in it.
Hah.
Hah.
HAH.
I often think of my father when I use Lava Soap. His visit here in the summer of 2001 included many milestones, among them his introduction to Lava Soap that he found on my soapdish. He was fascinated to find, so late in life, that such a marvelous soap product had somehow passed him by. For as much time as he left for himself he became a lifelong Lava Soap user, and our conversations sometimes included good-natured reference to the soap.
