Sometimes memories can come back with a photograph, a word, a song, or a little slip of paper.
I once met a guy with a smile quick to come and quick to go, a man with hair that he was constantly pushing out of his way so that it was always slightly disheveled, a man who thought hard and articulated carefully. The first time I met him, we ate sushi. I wrote down my number on a scrap of paper and he handed me his number on a scrap he pulled out of his wallet. It wasn't romantic - it was people who liked each other who wanted to meet again to hang out - to introduce each other to friends who would get along - to talk shop in a world where talking shop is sometimes hard to do with many people. That slip of paper is over two years old. I don't know if the number is the same and I don't know where the paper is, but I know I kept it when I was moving out of my old apartment, so it's packed somewhere. And that little scrap is a memory. Of the sushi, conversation, friends no longer friends, times long gone.
Last week - or was it the week before? - I saw this man in the hall. Jeans. Black shoes. A smile quick to come and quick to go. A fast, "how are you?" and a grab of the elbow as I passed him by, rushing off to class. Did he answer me? Did I listen?
Sometimes we don't take the time to hear the answers. It happens. We can't blame ourselves, but we can slow down. Take a moment. Listen. Be comforted by the thought that you are loved and that you love. Write a letter. Pet a dog. Don't forget that it's the little scraps of paper that soemtimes are the things that bring smiles through the tears.
Bad things happen to people who do good things. This past week they happened to a man with disheveled hair and deep thoughts. I will miss him.
well said, love.
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