TUESDAY EVENING

Down the road lives a man named Roger. Roger Hoffman or Huffman or something like that, most only know him as Roger. Ask anybody in the neighborhood and they would all tell you that Roger is a great neighbor, but they would all be holding onto a comment they didn’t wish to admit. Prodding a little deeper, pleading them to release their bitten tongues and share their secrets reveals one generally agreed upon thing; Roger smells. He smells bad.

It’s apparent that Roger is not aware of his condition, though maybe he would be if his diet were taken into consideration. His daily meals consist of variations of garlic, brussels sprouts, onion, lentils, pork, and milk. It’s what he likes. He is stubborn in that way. At the age of 56 Roger has lived enough life to know what he prefers and what brings him comfort. Who would his neighbors be to tell him that his comfort causes them great discomfort when that has never been the intention.

Roger has always been compassionate and caring, he has always helped those around him without a question asked. He seeks no reward or benefit or gratitude in his approach to the world and his life. But he can’t help but notice that people will cross the road when they see him on his evening walks. He feels like a monster. He doesn’t understand why others will run from him without so much as a “hello.”

Roger begins to take less walks, or take walks at times when he knows most people will be home. He troubles himself with trying to understand why those he calls his friends have begun to distance themselves, and it destroys him. He stays home most nights now, scared to bother anyone he passes, or afraid of doing something worse and becoming a complete pariah.

Roger lives alone, though that was not always the case. He had a wife for many years; Donna. They were inseparable. Everyone knew when seven pm rolled around Roger and Donna would take their walk and you could surely expect a warm “hello” or a welcoming silent wave and smile. But Donna passed away two years ago. What was once Roger and Donna became only Roger. The neighborhood banded around him, cooking him casseroles and inviting him to cookouts, because they loved the pair that they had all known, and they knew Roger needed something to fill the hole Donna had left. To many of the children he became a surrogate “Uncle Roger.” This helped Roger with his own increasingly distant children. They were all grown up now and had scattered themselves across the country with their jobs and their lives leaving little time to extend a hand to their lonely father.

But now those children he had grown to love from those families he had grown to take up had grown as well. And now there was no one to bounce on his knee or to push on a swing. There was no one there to share their day with him, and the parents had grown apart through their own endeavors. Now Roger spends his nights watching movies and shows that Donna loved, and failing to getting a response from his busy children. Now Roger finds himself totally alone wishing all of his children had stayed the same age. Now Roger finds himself forgetting himself and losing track of his remaining time. Now Roger finds himself in a home where his kids seldom come to visit. Now he forgets the faces of those he once loved. Now Donna becomes a story his children share with him from time to time. Now Roger has joined Donna and left behind those who had once loved him dearly. Now they feel guilty.

If only they had been honest about the smell.