Hugo

Lately, I've found myself making up stories about people I don't know.
Character profiles if you will.
As if you can base somebody's character solely on their appearance. Or in some cases, their name.

For example, there is a man who I walk passed every morning, without fail, while crossing the viaduct on my way to work. He is always wearing the same clothes. He wears a turquoise blue polo shirt with a breast pocket in which he keeps his glasses. This shirt is tucked into a pair of jeans, which are held up by a brown leather belt and he wears some kind of black leather loafer on his feet. I think they're orthopedic. He is bald and has a large, thick, white, nicotine stained mustache and he walks, very distinctly, with his chest puffed out. We have walked passed each other enough times now for us to glance an acknowledgement at each other, but not enough times to smile, or to utter a "hello", or "good morning".

I have decided that this man's name is Hugo.

(The only Hugo I've ever known was from my childhood. He lived next door to my mum's best friend, Bronia. My brother, Bronia's son, Daniel, and I would hide behind the gate at the end of their driveway and when Hugo would walk by, we would shout "Hugh goes there???" and run away with stitches in our side from laughing so hard. For some reason, though I can no longer recall Hugo's face, this man reminds me of him.)

Hugo walks because he received a DUI a few years ago. Although he is (and has been for quite some time) eligible to regain his driver's license, he has yet to do so. His '67 Chevy pick up is rusting and needs work and the walk is good for his heart. He is not the walking type however, but in recent years, his doctor, concerned with Hugo's cholesterol level, has been advising him to watch his nutritional intake, and increase his physical activity. Hugo has never been one to listen to persons of authority, but lately his only daughter, concerned for his well being, has been watching his every move and while he complains about her tight surveillance, he secretly appreciates this display of affection. He was not always the ever present father, and he marvels in the fact that she has managed to see past his sometimes neglectful parenting, and love him all the same. She doesn't get that from him.

Hugo, when he smokes cigarettes, roles his own, but he usually smokes a pipe. In his younger days, he used to be a drinker, but since his DUI, he has given up the bottle. He doesn't go to AA. He does it on his own. He is his own support system. His daughter also helps, but he won't admit to this.

Hugo is single. His wife ran away with their gardener years ago, taking their 6 year old sheep dog, Barney with her. Along with Hugo, she left behind their (then) fifteen year old daughter, and their life savings. She thought this was only right.

Over the first few years after her disappearance, they would receive the odd postcard. Each from a different exotic location. Tahiti. Hawaii. Bali. Tonga. Eventually they stopped coming and god only knows where she is now.

Hugo has managed to hold down the same job for the past eight years. He is the night janitor at a local strip joint. His shifts run from 2 to 7:30 am, after which, he sits down, enjoys a hand rolled cigarette (or pipe) and a diet Pepsi, and then walks home to his one floor heritage home in Strathcona, in which he has lived for the last thirty years. He and his wife bought the house together after they first wed. It has a basement suite which he has rented out to a couple of hipsters. Their cat, Magnus, comes and visits him daily, and sometimes his tenants do as well and they'll share a joint on his back porch.

The house needs work. The front gate is hanging on one hinge and the second porch stair needs replacing. He's not quite the handyman he once was, but he does what he can. It's hard working a night job and keeping a home. Maybe he'll move one day. Probably not though.

Hugo reads the paper everyday. He keeps up to date on current events, but not politics. He hates politicians. He doesn't listen to music. He eats homemade TV dinners prepared and frozen for him by his daughter. He doesn't recycle. He doesn't say much. He's an observer. His daughter comes and checks up on him twice a week and cleans his house on sundays. He sits on the front porch and grunts one word answers to his daughter's questions. "Dad, do you really need to keep this?". Sometimes she brings her dog. A black Lab named Roscoe. Roscoe and Magnus get along.

He doesn't do much and though he doesn't show it, he's happy with his mundane existence.

And this is Hugo.

After all this fake analyzing I have done over Hugo, I don't think I ever will move from a look of acknowledgment to a "Hello" or, "Good morning" because then I run the risk of having my character ruined. There is the potential for this 'gentleman' to be a completely different person than the one I have created. I don't think he is though.

Because I do have a pretty good judgement of character.