I met this lady the other day.
I was checking out at the grocery store, and Ava Scarlett was busying herself pressing buttons on the Coke machine close to the exit sign. I stuffed my receipt into my wallet, and watched as an elderly lady bent down to pat her on the head, looking around to see who she belonged to. I made a little wave in their direction and smiled. She looked immediately relieved.
“She is such a beautiful child… but you have to watch them so closely,” she said to me, obviously worried that the child would have wandered away without me.
“I was watching… but you’re right, you always have to keep a close eye. You never know.”
“I never had children of my own. It’s my biggest regret,” she said plainly, with sad eyes. “But, I travelled the world – I was an airline stewardess, you know – and I lived in Rome, Frankfurt, Vienna, London…” she counted the cities off her fingers. Coral nail polish.
I nodded. “It goes the other way too, though. I have children, but I haven’t been anywhere. Of course, people travel and do things with kids…” She took my arm as we sauntered out of the store together.
“But it’s not the same,” she said. “All my sisters have kids, and I’m the only one who didn’t. I have two brothers too, but one died in a fire, and the other one committed suicide. That was awful.”
Man, you’ve got to hand it to old kids – they really know how to get down to the brass tacks without going through all the niceties sometimes. It’s refreshing. Anyway, I suppose when you get to a certain age, you become aware of the time you have… and perhaps of the time you have not. The lady talked and talked. Maybe she needed to. Maybe my face is open… people chat to me in fairly outrageous ways sometimes. I have no idea why that is, but I don’t mind at all.
The wind picked up a bit as we walked. She drew her fancy silk scarf around her neck a little closer, and I could smell her perfume as she leaned into me. She appeared to take good care of herself, from head to toe. Still made up and well coiffed. Tweed trousers and a smart jacket. This elegant lady looked to be in her early seventies, I’d have guessed. Later she told me she’s be seventy-eight in December.
“I had an abortion once,” she said, as she looked at me sideways. “I was twenty-one, and unmarried… in those times, you just couldn’t go around with a baby all by yourself, you know.” I didn’t flinch. I just looked at her, and let her talk. She had things to say.
We walked and talked. At a stop light, I asked her which direction she was going, and she motioned backward, east of where we headed, but said, “Oh, I walk everywhere. It’s good exercise, and better than having another blasted car on the road all the time… I can keep going this way for a while, and I’ll finish my story.”
I knew already this story would have no end, but I didn’t mind. I had to be back in time to receive a dishwasher repair man, but otherwise I had no plans. Finally, I just invited her to have coffee at my house, if she wanted. She thought about it for a minute, and then gave me a beaming, this-is-crazy kind of smile, with her eyes wide open, and accepted. We just kept on talking.
“I had a brother that committed suicide. Did I tell you that already? My memory isn’t so good… I’ve had anesthetic twice in my life, and sometimes it takes a while for the memory to come back, you see?”
She would repeat this, and other things many times during our time together. I felt perfectly patient and just let her say all she wanted.
At my house, she walked around slowly, looking at the things on the walls… examining our life in the ways a person does when they come to visit. She told me she was gearing up to move to Quebec City in June. She has a boyfriend there. She wants to take up painting again, but she couldn’t remember how. “The anesthetic, you know…”
“Maybe if you get some paint brushes and some paper, it will all come back to you… the mind is tricky sometimes,” I said. She nodded, and I refilled her coffee.
“I lived in Rome once.”
“Yes, you told me.”
“Frankfurt too.”
“Yes.” I smiled, unblinking.
“I had a brother who died in a fire once. He lived for four days in the hospital before he died. That was awful.” She waves four fingers at me.
“That sounds awful. I’m so sorry.”
She throws her hands down. “Oh, it was years ago now…”
Patience.
We chatted and chatted until Oliver came home from school – she waited to meet him, but said she’d have to get going after that. She put her hands on his cheeks and spoke to him in French, telling him how handsome he was, and what a good, smart boy he seemed to be. Oliver chatted back with her, shyly and softly, and shook her hand while he looked into her eyes. He let her pat his head, and touch his hair. He knows how to be patient and sweet with the old kids. The petting and the fawning… he’s used to it. And that’s just how they roll. I wink at him and hand a small plate of wafer cookies dipped in dark chocolate.
Soon afterward, my lady was asking for her coat – she had a bit of a walk ahead of her, but that was okay. “I like walking. And besides, it’s good exercise…”
We hugged each other goodbye and kissed on both cheeks. “Take care,” I said as I pointed her in the right direction. She looked back and waved twice before she turned the corner.
It’s a weird thing, being open to strangers like that sometimes… but I can dig it. There must be reasons for these kinds of chance meetings with frank, personal exchanges though I’m not always sure of what they are. Perhaps it’s just an exercise in being patient, or in really listening to others. Or, perhaps it’s just good to be open whenever you can be. *shrugs* Putting a bit of kindness back into the world can’t ever be a bad thing, I reckon. Goodness knows I’m reaping my share these days… karma and whatnot.
Ever have a chance encounter like this?
Oh you are a wonderful storyteller- my eye raced to the end a bit not wanting it to end badly. It is brave to share your story and it is brave to let people in. Especially maybe to let them in your house.
This is the world I want to live in.
Thank you grumbler for reminding everyone that this is good xx
Hi Tracy,
loved your story, Nance speaks so highly of you, this lovely afternoon makes me admire who you are even more,
Sam
great story. you’ve made her day..week…probably month! 😉 now, in my twisted head she comes rappelling down the side of your house with camo makeup on and a rose in her teeth and makes off with your silverware 🙂
Whoa! Wow. I love this. So much. I had a homeless guy that I would talk to all the time – he always worked a red light that I passed daily. He’d tell me that he used to live in NYC and heard Bob Dylan play at coffee houses etc. I’d find myslef looking for him and I’d wave him over if I was a few doors down…and I’d always give him $5. Then one day – he was just not there. snifffffffffff. Now there are two kids there holding up a ‘save the pigs’ sign – there is a slaughterhouse near by. I wave and go grab a BLT.
What a beautiful story. You clearly have much to share and teach the world about kindness. There are so few people who would do what you did and who are unafraid to walk this earth with an open heart like yours. Thank you for sharing this story.
WOW! I love this! It’s amazing when you get that “good vibe” about a stranger. I’ve had a few chance encounters and I’m sure people would shake their heads and shrill at me. Actually last week but I won’t get into details. You just get this intuition thing going on and for some reason I let fate take it’s course. I remember once I was downtown and a man in his 70s started walking next to me..sweet man, nothing dirty about him. We walked a couple blocks and then he asked if I could have coffee for a few minutes with him..so I did. It was a great time! For about an hour I listened to his stories. Then I said thank you for sharing a moment in life and off I went. He told me I was a guiding angel and that’s why he wanted to talk. Heh. That was it. Nothing more. Happened again at the AGO last year with another stranger. We get so skeptical about strangers, and rightly so, but like you say, karma or whatever.
Amazing, Tracey. I love this post. I love that you were open to this. So often I find myself rushing and I am sure I have missed out on many a chance encounter because of it. Beautiful writing from a beautiful lady. x