Interactions With a Stranger (Part 3)

 “Hey, Indiana!” we yelled. We’d given up on the Q Line; the wait was over an hour. We saw Indiana at the next bus stop. “Oh, hey!” she waved. “Can I walk with you?” We walked together down Woodward, talking about the concert, the people we’d seen, the blisters we were getting from our impractical shoes. She gave me a bracelet. We gave her advice about what she should see in Detroit the next day. We said maybe we’d see each other at breakfast. But we never saw her again, and we never learned her real name.

Reflecting on Interactions with a Stranger

About a month ago, I wrote the following Facebook post. 157 people reacted to it; 24 people commented. Everyone was touched by the power of a moment when two very different people from very different worlds connected for a few minutes and made each other's day. Here's what I wrote.

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I was waiting tables for the lunch shift today, and near the end of the shift, this old guy in a US Navy hat shuffled in. He was kind of gruff, didn't really make eye contact, wanted "a Bud and it better not be that Bud light stuff, just a Bud."

The bartender told me his name was Dave.

So I got him his beer and I got him his lunch and I stopped by to check on him a few times, and each time I stopped by, he warmed up a little bit more. He told me I was working really hard, and I told him I was a high school teacher and was used to being on my feet and moving (and thinking) constantly and trying to take care of everyone in the room.

At the end of the shift, he had cashed out and was sitting up at the bar. I sat up there too because I wanted to grab a cider and eat my cold fries. It would have seemed awkward to sit two seats down from Dave, so I just sat next to Dave.

He gruffly asked me about my tattoos and why I would ever do anything like that. So I told him what each one of the tattoos meant. And then he asked me some more questions. And I asked him some. He got on me about being on my phone, so I showed him how Life360 worked, and how I could see where my kids were. He asked me if it bothered my kids that I was tracking them, and I said no, they had to set the permissions in their phone for it to work, so they were totally on board, and they would track where I was too. I said I had a really good relationship with my kids. He talked about how he never wanted kids and couldn't imagine what it was like, but he'd heard it was really painful and really hard.
We ended up talking for close to an hour. He told me how to bet on horses and that I should go to the track. I told him how to sleep on trains in Europe, so you didn't have to pay for hotels or housing. And at the end of it he looked at me for a minute and then he said, "you are a remarkable woman."

I almost fell off my barstool. I've been called a lot of things in my life, but this was a first.

I don't know Dave's life story, and I don't know how many more years he has left on this earth. But today, I hope I made Dave feel seen. In return, he gave me the most incredible compliment I think I've ever gotten in my life.

A remarkable woman.

That's a tall order to live up to, Dave, but thank you for saying it, and for giving me the incentive to be that very person.

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Two weeks later, I was working with the same bartender when she told me about what had happened with Dave that day.

He came in drunk. He awkwardly flirted with the bartender, but she set him straight right away. She's not available. Here's your Bud, Dave.

He continued to make comments.

He tried to steal a pint glass.

His fly was unzipped at one point.

He may have been exposed. She tried not to look.

Man, Dave, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. And it turns out that you were a creep. Maybe you were hitting on me, too, and I was taking you at face value.

Does that change how I feel about our first interaction? Does it take away a little bit of my hope for humanity, my belief in the inherent good of people? Or does it simply just reinforce the fact that we are all also inherently flawed, that we all have the power to raise each other up, and we also have the power to cause great harm?

Photo by paul mocan on Unsplash

If we accept people without skepticism, they will eventually tell us who they are.

Sometimes they will be fantastic people who make our lives and the world a bit better. Sometimes they will be remarkable people.

Sometimes they will be Dave.

Sometimes they will be both.

Goddess

My good friend Alicia was packing up the U-Haul, taking the things she loved and leaving most of it behind. She tasked me with going through her closet, filling donation bags, throwing out the things that couldn't be donated. I took a few things for my daughter: a pink scarf, a frilly shirt, a skirt, a sweater. And I took one thing for me: a bright green kaftan, one size fits all. Maybe it would fit. I liked the color.

Later, I texted Alicia that I had grabbed the kaftan. "Is it the green one?" she asked. "If so, it was hand-batiked on St. Kitts! I LOVE this for you!"

I laughed. Of course it was hand-batiked on St. Kitts. I love Alicia dearly, but she and I have lived very different lives. 

But I told her "YES!" and she replied with a heart.

I pulled the kaftan over my head once, later in the week, to make sure it really was "one size fits all" and not just "one size fits some." It was big enough to fit me, flowing down to the floor. I looked at myself in the mirror. Where would I wear such a thing? I have one other kaftan that I love, but I've never drummed up the courage to wear it in public. I'm a cargo pants and hoodies girl, not a wearer of kaftans.

But last night, as I was pulling my sweaty, dirty sweats off after working in the yard all day, I couldn't handle any more clothing scratching at my skin. I saw the kaftan out of the corner of my eye. Why not? All I was going to do was fold laundry. Why not wear the kaftan?

It had these long ties hanging down the inside, dangling on the floor. I was stumped. I flipped it the other way, but that was decidedly inside-out. The ties belonged on the inside.

So I slipped it over my head, and then realized that the ties were meant to tie around my waist, anchoring the top of the kaftan to my chest. I tied them in a bow behind my back.

And then I looked in the mirror and realized: 

I AM A FUCKING GODDESS.

It was gorgeous. It was more than gorgeous. I was gorgeous. I don't think I've felt that beautiful in a decade. 

I floated downstairs and folded laundry in my goddess kaftan, hand-batiked on St. Kitts. 

I don't know where I'll ever wear it; maybe it will become my folding-laundry kaftan, and I will become an ironic domestic goddess, just for a few hours every week. 

I don't think I've ever felt that I deserved a kaftan, hand-batiked on St. Kitts. I could never imagine myself in something so bold, so beautiful.

Before now.

Photo by Logan Gutierrez on Unsplash