Monday, May 11, 2015

Lavender Cracked Pepper Lattes On a Scale From 1 to 10

Occasionally, my girl and I, we like to treat ourselves to lunch at the cafe of a nearby bookstore.  We pick out an entree to share and we each find something to read and we sit in silence, reading and eating.  We are comfortable in that silence.  We're there together, and we understand that about each other.  During the last year when my father was in an Alzheimer's facility nearby the cafe, we would go each Monday and I'd sit there with my coffee, preparing my heart to face the man who was my father fading away.  As I often do when I go anywhere, I connect with those around me.  The staff at the cafe became familiar faces and we'd greet one another when I walked through the door.  They knew why I was there and they'd sometimes slip me a piece of my favorite chocolate to go with my coffee, just to make it easier for me.  I liked that.  I liked that we knew each others' names and that when one of the young cashiers who had fabulously dyed purple hair left for an adventure sight unseen in Oregon, we exchanged email addresses so she could send me her stories.

Today though, we stopped at the cafe after a long absence. We'd just not had time to wander in for a good while.  I smiled when I saw the sign for lavender cracked pepper lattes...oh my; how ladylike, I thought to myself, and considered getting one just because it sounded adventurous when I heard "Hey!  Where have you been??!"  Ah!  A familiar face behind the counter.  I smiled my greeting back and ordered my blt on toasted grainy goodness and sat down to wait.

Order up and the waitress delivered it straight to my table and sat down.  "So. On a scale from 1 to 10, 10 being wildly, madly good....how's life?", I said to her.  She wagered a 4, she thought, and propped her chin in her hand.  "Why?", I ventured, because I cared.  I don't ask the question just to be asking it, and I ask it a lot when I encounter someone, sometimes even of total strangers when I have a moment to look right at them; car mechanics, bank tellers, people sitting on the next bench at the park.  

We talked for right near an hour.  The other waitress graciously took up the slack as this woman opened up the door to her life and invited me in.  We sorted through the things she layed out before me, she and I.  I listened mostly.  I like to listen.  It warms people when we do.  As I did, I whispered to God.  "What should I say?  Anything?"  And then a word floated to the surface of my brain.  "I hear the word 'hijacked' in my mind.  It seems like maybe you've allowed your life to be hijacked?"  Tears spilled out and down her face.  That's it, she nodded.  That's it exactly.  She let out the worst of the story and cried some more.  It was time for her to get back to work.  She got up and started to walk away and turned around and came back and hugged me. "Thank you for listening.  You came in for lunch and look what you got!"  Yes.  Look what I got, indeed.

I walked out to the car with my girl, bewildered at how that happens to me.  I don't understand it.  I don't set out to bang down people's walls and find out their secrets.  I marvel that people tell me what they do, many times barely knowing me.  It seems to be what I can give.  And in return?  I'm trusted with hearts that make me richer inside.  I wouldn't trade that.  Even for lavender cracked pepper lattes.

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