The most intriguing feature was the scar on his face. It was a subtle faded mark that he probably got a long time ago. It started right below the tip of mouth on the left side and ran a little more than halfway to his ear. It dipped and curved up, as it tried to arrive at its destination on his ear lobe.
I didn’t ask him how he got it, considering how rude that would be, but my mind had immediately fabricated as many stories as it could. Perhaps, he got it in some hunting accident. Perhaps, he took a bullet through the face while serving in the army. Perhaps, it is the remnants of a botched surgery. I tried not to stare at it, but couldn’t help to take the occasional peek.
He was a wide man, but I would not call him fat. He had brown hair that was cut short around the sides. His ears seemed to be pushed towards the back of his head. He was wearing a bright blue tee-shirt. He wore khaki brown shorts and black tennis shoes lined with a dark yellow. He made the smart move of wearing a pair of sunglasses on such a sunny day.
When he would say something to me, he took off his sunglasses to reveal light blue eyes that almost looked pale and eyebrows so thin that they might as well not be there. His voice was surprisingly gentle and polite. I’ve never been much of a conversationalist, but Craig was easy to talk to. When someone spoke, he listened. The more we spoke, the less I looked at his scar.
I have not heard from him ever since.