Wonder Light: Chronicles Of The Glass Shop

October 6, 2007, Saturday

Sometimes, as I stand in the shop listening to a man in Pointer brand overalls describe the size plexiglass he needs for the flip-out window on his deer stand, I can feel my IQ pouring out the bottom of my shoe.

Such was the case yesterday, and the conversation was one-sided and long. It was important to have the plexiglass, he told me, cause it gets cold up in that stand at night. He had no exact measurements, just held his hands up and said, "'Bout yea big by yea big."

"Got it," I said.

The shirt he wore was so threadbare I could see his undershirt clean through it. The next to top button was missing and he had an old safety pin in its place. His hair was white as cotton, and the cleanest thing about him. Those overalls hadn't seen the inside of a washer in a long time. He dipped, as so many of them do. But he was oblivious to the trickle of brown tobacco juice running down the corner of his mouth. It had seeped into the finer wrinkles of his face, like water filing a dry creek bed.