Astounded, George repeated the words in his head as, a few minutes later, he changed and removed his makeup. Looking at himself in the mirror, wild white hair and a three-inch beard, he felt that maybe he really, after a shave and a haircut, two bits, wouldn’t look all that old. He’d always thought that a kind word to someone else, even to a complete stranger, might change that person’s life forever. Maybe, it was love, after all, not sex, that filled the grand canyon, and helped put off for a time our fears of death.
His step was lighter as he walked to his car. They’d rehearsed later than usual that night. It was past 11. Maybe he’d stop at the drive-through window, get a hamburger with fries, something he rarely ate that late at night, because it’d give him indigestion. But then he’d be even later getting home to walk Kaiser. Maybe Carole could do it. By rights, she should do it. After all, they’d gotten a dog to keep his wife company because she’d complained about George being out late so many evenings during the week preparing for a play – even more evenings and weekends as it came closer to showtime, going, she liked to say, to his own secret space. Yes. She could certainly walk Kaiser. He raced, in an unusually good frame of mind for him, he thought, to the drive through. Maybe he’d get a frozen vanilla yogurt too.