James,
I know you probably don't remember me, but between you, me, and the almond butter pancakes I'm devouring right now, I don't much care. I'm here to thank you, and to redeem myself.
When I lived in Virginia, I stayed in an apartment building right around the corner from the store where you worked. Because it was within walking distance, I often took foot traffic there for the essentials: hummus and crackers, cage-free eggs, Nature's Own 100% whole wheat bread. If I only needed a few things, there was no need to take my car-- so I'd just bring my iPod along for the 10-minute journey and look forward to the Christmas bell on the front door jangling when I came inside.
Even though I can't remember the first time we met, your face, even now, is like a stamp on my quarter-life crisis-canvas. At a time in my life where nothing was predictable and everything was up in the air, you were a constant.
As a change-slinging, dollar-dollar-bill-counting, produce-bagging young man, for some unknown reason you were always really content doing your job. In the midst of your miserable coworkers, you stood out as the cashier of the century. Not only would you always ask me how I was doing, but you'd also give into my asshole mind games when I was in a bad mood.
"How are you today?"
"You know, actually, I'm not doing well. But I do appreciate you asking."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope your day gets better! Smiling always helps!"
Then, because I never had cash, you would look casually at my credit card for verification and say, "Thanks Ms. Coffta!"
This world is full of people who are full of faux-niceties. We, as a species, think that simply asking others, "How ARE you?" is enough. Not only do we not listen to the responses we receive, but we actually hope those we ask won't respond. What kind of crazy shit is that? Fortunately, there are people like you in the world who listen, who respond, who at least pretend to care.
James, I told you I wasn't okay the day I went to go get a pint of Ben and Jerry's after my now-ex-boyfriend told me he needed a little space-- I think it was December. And you heard me. For that, I thank you.
There is something else, James. Something that might shock you. I am really hoping you're not offended, but I just have to tell you for my own sanity's sake.
I noticed, during our frequent visits, that your eyes were always bloodshot. Your Chiclet teeth were yellowed from your frequent smoke breaks, and your friendly-freckled skin shone sallow from the heroin.
Yes, I saw the track marks on your arms, under the hem of the sleeve on your button-down uniform. It might have been the third, fourth time I passed through your lane, but they were there, staring at me like dying dwarf planets, radiating an intense heat and harboring a desire that I myself have never known.
In you, I saw my brother. Wide-eyed and nests of hair hiding secrets, you are more similar than I can possibly know or describe.
There is just one last thing: I'm so sorry, James, that I never asked how you were. How your day was going, how your job was going, what you had planned for your future. I don't generally ask for forgiveness, but perhaps me telling you that my brother has been free of narcotics and hard drugs for over a year-and-a-half will somehow make up for it.
Until then, I hope that wherever you are, you are there. In that moment. Present with yourself, and present with the people around you. I hope you are still asking people around you about their days, listening and responding in a friendly, conversational tone. I hope you still have a job, even if it is somewhere else, and that you make enough money to pay your bills, because being in debt is not fun. I hope you have obtained a degree of some sort from somewhere for some future career that means something to you. (Maybe you could go to school for nursing. With your affect, I bet you'd be fabulous.)
Most of all, I hope you have quit smoking, because not only is it disgusting, but you're literally shaving years off of your life with every drag. As for the heroin, well, there is hope. And help. Often times it comes in the form of anger and pain, but keep your eyes out for it when it comes along. In the meantime, just do your best to count change correctly, remember birthdays, call your parents often, and tell people you care about that you love them more than you think fit.
And as for me, James, I'm doing just fine.
With sisterly love,
Lindsay
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