Daily Archives: June 17, 2013

The People We Meet

There’s people in and out of our lives.   And I sometimes wonder about them.

I knew a woman who lived down the street from us.  She made things and put them in her attic.  Things like baby dolls and knitted things.  Years later she put a gun to her head and killed herself.  I wonder about her pain.

There was a family that lived up the street from us for years.  The girl in the family was a little older than me.  She had a baby at the age of seventeen.   I liked her.   The boy who got her pregnant was abusive.  She moved away.  I wonder about her and her baby boy who would now be a man.    I think the babie’s father use to hit her.  And I always wondered….did she stay with him or find another one like him?  Or did she learn she deserved better.   And did she learn that love doesn’t hurt.

I worked in a telemarketing office once.  Yes, I did.  Don’t hate me.  Back then the people I called didn’t hate me.  But I was so naive.  Only one person was ever rude to me when I called and he yelled at me “I’m having sex with my wife!”    If it was today and I had not been so dumb struck I would have asked why in the hell was he answering the phone then?   But I was young, naive and literally shocked in to silence.  I don’t really wonder about him though now that I mention him I kind of do…. But I wonder about the people in the office.  The one who reminded me of my Aunt Toots.  The guy who was tall and skinny with a huge adam’s apple who got seriously depressed when his cat got real sick.  And the lady who’s husband became a District Attorney in a place where the previous D.A. had been murdered.   And I wonder about Ted, the Lutheran, who was much older than any of us.  He came to work in a tie every day.  Was as cordial and polite as could be.  And who took on a part time job so he didn’t just sit around.   Some of them I miss.  All of them I wonder about on occasion.

I wonder about one of my fifth grade teachers.  She taught us how to make apple dolls.  And she always paid attention to me.  I liked her.  I don’t even remember most of my teachers.  But the ones I remember I remember fondly.   I wonder if she’s still alive.

After my divorce I used to clean houses.  I worked for this guy who had his own business.  He cheated me out of money.  But one Valentines Day he sent me to his apartment to pick up something and he had laid out roses and chocolates and a card.  Just so I would find them.  Yes, they were for me, they had my name on them.  When I opened his front door he had rose petals scattered as a path to the flowers and card and candy.   We had talked while we worked together.  He knew I had never had any thing for Valentines, unless I had gotten it myself for my husband to give me.   He remembered.  Surprised me.  And though he later cheated me out of money….it didn’t matter near as much as the kindness he showed me.   I wonder about him.   I hope he found happiness.  It was a time when he couldn’t be.

Once, in Ireland, we were staying at a  B & B.   It was very nice.   In the middle of the night we were awoken by some odd and loud noises.  In the morning when we went downstairs we were looking at their display of information for the area and a man who was still drunk, or getting drunk,   came in to join us.  He talked a good bit.  I was uncomfortable with not knowing what was going on.  Though he was pleasant enough the lady running the establishment was watching us and did not seem happy.  But I didn’t know about what.  I wondered if we had done something to upset her.   When we finally sat to our breakfast she was apologetic to us for the man’s behavior.  She had nothing good to say about him.  He was an alcoholic and her husband was his sponsor.  I don’t think she meant him any ill will but I think she feared her reputation would be marred by his behavior.   It wasn’t.  It was a very nice place and had we ever stayed in her town again we would have gone there.  I wonder about him and whether he got sober or not.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder about the possibility of someone thinking about me.  Someone who’s life I’ve passed through.   Someone who’s life I was in for awhile, or just  for a brief stop and go.

What kind of impression was left.

And do thoughts or curiosities linger.

Don’t we all have that possibility?  To be remembered by people we meet.

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