A stand-up man who'd rather lay down.

By some twist of luck characteristically mine
I went from being partnered
with the biggest drunk in the local
to working next to the smelliest man in our union.
The guy looks like a shaggier Charles Manson
or some anthropomoporhic sheep dog who
barely says boo unless spoken to.
But I guess it's better to be paired up with
someone who knows how to keep his trap shut
and doesn't borrow money at the bar every week.

We were running the plumbing under a house today
when his haggard facial hair came up in one of our
typically terse conversations. I figured it'd be a
light-hearted topic that might help me pry him open
a bit and see what the man was about, a crawlspace
being the best place to do that since there's nowhere
to escape to, physically or otherwise.

"So what's with the beard, man?"

"I've had it since I could grow one."

"Yeah? Any reason?"

"My old man's had one for most of his life.
It hides a scar on his neck."

That's about where it got awkward, I know
how this kind of discussion goes unfortunately.
I kept working and didn't ask any further.
If he wanted to clarify
he would.

He did.

"He got his throat sliced at a bar. He was dancing
with a girl and..."

Finishing the sentence didn't seem required
but he did it anyway and threw me for a loop.

"...her girlfriend came up and slashed his neck.
He ran out of the place holding his gaping throat.
They never found the dyke who did it."

I put my tools down to better hear the punchline.

It didn't come.

"Holy shit, man. Did she come up from behind?"

At this point I was interested in the logistics of the incident.

"I don't know, he doesn't talk about it much."

"I guess he wouldn't..."

"But that's why he keeps the beard."

And like a good son
he keeps his, too.

And like a good apprentice
I went back to laying pipe
and let the man work in peace
for the rest of the day, silence being golden.

It's the quiet ones who have the best stories.