He was an ordinary man, neither fat nor thin, neither tall nor small... the absolute average of all things. He had a face you could forget almost instantly, and there was no crowd he could not disappear inÖ He was so ordinary he became invisible.
At work he wore a neat suit, neither expensive nor cheap, a tie and polished shoes. What he wore out of work I never knew, and I donít suppose many did, for he was not the person you would think to have an active social life, or even a social life at all.
His power lay not in anything physical. As would be expected neither his speed nor strength were anything out of the ordinary.
He lived his life by the book.
He followed every single rule in it, kept himself top every single letter, and with an unusual harshness, he expected the same from all around him.
It was hard to see him coming, unnoticeable as he was, it was impossible to keep a watch out for him. He could arrive at our doorstep any time, papers in his hand. And with a single autograph on those papers, he could banish me to a life away from home, from my mother, and all that I had known.
We represented everything this man loathed; a chaotic, disorganized household, a home held together by magic and the ability to improvise.
He was blind to all that was good about it, the love, the freedom.
He took out his list and started checking, ever checking, making notes of the dust on the shelves, the food in the fridge, the unwashed dishes in the sink.
Each time he moved through my house I held my breath, hid under the sink and prayed he would leave.
He had the power to change my life, but not the ability to understand it.
He was an ordinary man, and he had no great powers.
But in his hand he held the pen that could change my life forever, and thus I feared him more than anything.