Marvin

Marvin is a short black man with a rough face and rough hands. He always wears the same early 90's navy and black windbreaker that looks like it should be accompanied by matching pants. Small children seem unsure of him when they walk by.

Marvin is a handyman, janitor, and basically a servant. He answers with "yes sirs" and "yes ma'ams" and refers to me as "Miss Rachel." He is constantly running somewhere or doing something for someone else. He used to hum the Superman theme song whenever he was not talking, and when he was talking he was talking 1,000 words/minute.

Marvin was very curious about my BlackBerry. He doesn't own a computer or DVD player. He told me if he had access to the internet he would download games and look up the reason why some sump pumps don't clog. He's always wondered about that. He had been wanting to watch Forrest Gump for for 15 years and finally did a few weeks ago because he caught it on TV.

Marvin is in the hospital. He has a huge cancerous tumor in his throat and they removed his entire voicebox. He'll never be able to speak again, and I feel sad that I never appreciated his voice until now, when I'm left without it.