Eddie Didona

No longer the young man pictured here, he believes that, finally, he has everything he ever wanted. It would seem that there would be a skip in his walk as he whistled on his way to work. Yet, a permanent scowl mars a reddened face. A crease in his forehead is now eternal and the scars of acne are more pronounced. The bags and the heaviness of the lids shut the already narrow slits of his eyes, so much so, that the iris is completely black. Strange, the resemblance to Dante’s Purgatory, in which the envious had their eyes sewn closed with wire because they had gained pleasure from seeing others brought low. Although I see nothing as grotesque as wire-sewn eyes, something is definitely forcing them nearer their final position.

Either his hands or his feet are in constant motion. Even if he is doing nothing more than sitting, they move uncontrollably. But it is his hands that are the most telling. Weathered and worn for their age and small for a man of his height, he constantly places them on his face, usually obscuring his mouth in some form. The most common position is with his forefinger vertical, alongside his nose, the tip almost touching the eyebrow, with the rest of the fingers bent in front of his lips and the thumb securely under his chin. This is especially true when he is being deceitful.

Who is this man? I’ve known him for more than twenty years, but the man that stands before me now is a stranger… worse, unrecognizable, almost inhuman. When did this happen? Was he always like this? There is a darkness that surrounds him and when he speaks, I swear I can hear a faint constant hissing. They say that if one looks for the bad in others, one will surely find it. Yet, I’ve often wondered why, when looking at him, searching for the good, that my mind was suddenly filled with blackness. Neither thoughts, nor words would form. It is as if his ebony spirit blocks out all the light.

Slowly working his way through the Seven Deadly Sins, he has nearly mastered one for each decade he has walked about, with seemingly only gluttony and sloth escaping his proficiency. In Dante's Purgatory, the remorseful were bound and laid face done on the ground, symbolizing their sin of concentrating too much on earthly thoughts. But that would imply that once had Godly thoughts, and there is little evidence to support thereof, although, his inordinate desire to acquire or posses more than he needs is apparent.

Yet, it is more his avariciousness that consumes him. Achieving personal gain by means of betrayal, bribery, theft or manipulation are portrayals of his true abilities.

He has no desire to compete with a God that he neither acknowledges nor accepts. So, he plays this dangerous game without fear or compunction. Excessive love of self and desire to be more attractive than others, controls his tongue, causing him to orate falsities worthy of accolades usually reserved for the most competent of thespians.  These fables, which he repeats only for his own amusement, often appear to be direct experience. Listen to him brag about the rigors of being a Marine to a young hopeful. With his hand squarely on his face, covering just the hint of a smile, he’ll tell of the trials and pain of the worst of situations, followed by the exuberance of victory. The listener’s face falls as he empathizes with the sadness of the told defeat…then the corners of their mouth start to creep up, first a slight grin, then a wide-eyed, teeth-baring beam, maybe even an audible laugh or gasp as purported triumph is revealed. Yet those of us who know sit agape, with the knowledge that he didn’t even make it out of boot camp. Our silence fuels his extravagances and the few who dare to speak the truth are quickly cut down by his charm. I’m sure that one day, a noticeable hunch will replace the now straight spine as the God he ignores forces humility upon this most reluctant follower.

If the man be bereft, give him solace. If he be in physical torment, give him medicine. If he be to the desire of death, give him hope.” Reason, encouragement, and faith bring hope, therefore use them liberally.—Francis of Assisi

Would this man, the one who believes that the universe is conspiring against him, even understand the words of a saint? Cynicism and impending doom are his mantras. He has neither the ability to grasp the concept of hope, nor dispense it. Maybe he is becoming more proficient of sloth. This absence, or insufficiency of love, particularly the ability to express it thereof, endangers his soul and destroys those who extol optimism for his salvation.

Currently, self-service rules his heart while lust ravages his mind as he courts his fourth wife. He hopes to make a fresh start... even before he is finished with his current marriage. He courts her even though he knows that his wife is watching, even though he knows his disregard is hardening her against him; he is unable to stop himself. This repeated pattern may very well mark his fourth attempt at matrimony. I saw how his wife slowly dissolved his mask. Misguided by love, she truly thought the façade hid a beautiful soul. It was heartbreaking to watch the horror come across her face when she realized the true image unfold.

He has searched hard over the past five years for next object of his obsession. Two previous, intended mistresses momentarily accepted the role before escaping, wounded, but intact. I don’t think the current one will fare so well.  His love of self is so perverted that in transcends into hatred and contempt for others, even if that is not his conscious goal. It is as if he is Dante’s chosen student and without much concern he has been the most willing pupil.