A WHIFF

My nose is long. Strangers turn their head in disbelief. Close relatives do their best to unobtrusively avert their eyes at holiday gatherings. They talk to the back of my head. I’m not happy about their inability to look into my face but accept it, am used to it since I was a child. They are unaware that my misfortune is my fortune and I am lucky in a way they can never be.

A simple, solitary walk in the park is an experience. Each tree, whether standing alone or in a forest, has it’s own odor. The sycamores, oaks, maples, weeping willows are my friends. Their arms wave ‘hello’, welcome me to sit in their shade. Sometimes they turn towards the sky and pray for rain. We know together rain is on the way. I smell it coming. The maple’s long feet tingle in the dry soil, unwilling to die. Its wait is almost over.

The strong oak smells of urine. Dogs love to stop there, get relief and then chase a squirrel up into the orange and brown fading leaves. The yelping dogs make the tree shake with laughter at their inability to run as fast as such a tiny, fast toy.

I smell it well before I see it. A couple, sitting on a wooden bench, are sharing a huge Subway salami sandwich. It has pickles, golden mustard and chopped onions. Its smell entices me. As I pass them, they glance at me and I am aware they have noticed my nose. They quickly look away, put their attention on their leaking sandwich. I smile at them, wave and tell them how good the salami smells.

Peanuts. I smell peanuts. My path winds and there are the peanuts and the pigeons and a kind elderly lady strewing them, still in their shells, as far as she can. The birds peck and peck, are not afraid of me and don’t mind my nosy nose at all. A few more blocks and I get a whiff of the delicious aroma of my green manicured lawn. It curls into my nostrils, twitches, commands that I sneeze. I give it freedom. Kleenex is useless. Quickly I pull my overly large trusty red bandana from my rear pocket, dry my sopping face.

Mother opens the front door and the smell of snapper frying quickens my step. She tells me to wash up. Dinner is just about ready. Mom doesn’t notice my nose, probably hasn’t since I was two when she must have thought the rest of my face would grow around my nose. My nose had a big head start and remained the leader.

I go upstairs, turn, look behind me and all I smell is ME. The fish smells better.