She said, “Yooou’re lucky,” in an accent thicker than the
lines on her face.
In late June I left my doctor’s office to walk one long
block down to Taco Bell where Chris was going to pick me up. The most direct
path took me through the parking lot, down a flight of stairs, to a concrete
sidewalk which led to the main sidewalk along the road. Right where this side
path intersected with the sidewalk there was also a cross walk that ran across
the road to the entrance of a multi-tiered retirement community. A woman was
making her way slowly across the road with her walker. She was close to the
sidewalk, as was I, when we made eye contact.
She said, “Yooou’re lucky.” She was from Brooklyn, New York.
She didn’t have to tell me that—although later she would.
“Pardon?” I replied.
“You’re lucky!” she fired back. “You can walk!”
She had me there. “Yes, I am. I’m lucky. I can walk.”
Now, I’m quite frequently socially awkward. I have my
moments of feigning normality, but I also have some humdinger moments of
complete social ineptitude. This was a weird start!! It would have been in
keeping with my character for me to kind of wave and say, “Well, have a good
day!” and hurry on to Taco Bell.
But sometimes you know. I knew this was weird in a “stop and
pay attention because this is a MOMENT” kind of thing.
I stopped and waited while she got to the sidewalk. “I’m
Alaska,” I said. “You’re headed to Weis?” Yes, she was, and she had some things
to say. Most of them involved the F word, and they were all in an
Italian-from-Brooklyn accent. I’m guessing she was in her mid-80s, but she was
smart as a whip and feistier than a Greek Goddess who’s been done wrong. We’ll
call her Eva. Eva means life.
“My children say Ya have to walk, Ma. You can’t just sit
still. The don’t F’n know what they’re talking about! They don’t have to F’n do
it!”
“It’s their job to harass you so you don’t freeze up,” I
said.
“F that.” She replied matter-of-factly.
I won’t lie. I was in love.
She told me about her children. They were F’n brilliant. One
was a psychiatrist. The other a professor in the hard sciences. She said her
daughter came home at some step along her educational path and said “We need to
talk, Ma.” Eva told her “F that. We all have our problems.” I told her I have
my own Psychiatrist and it’s worked out pretty well. “Good.” She said like it
had been her idea that I should go. “If you need it, you should go.” She
paused. “Don’t stop. Bad things can happen if you stop.” I reassured her that I
knew that rule well.
She had questions for me. “What do you do?” I told her I had
just defended my dissertation and we were moving so I could take a position at
BYU. “You’re a Mormon?” “Yep.” She cocked her head at me. “Good. People need something
to believe in. Just don’t go being a F’n jerk about it.” I reassured her that
was not my M.O.
Eva was generous, funny, smart, and had the vocabulary of an
inebriated sailor.
We talked about my boys, too. She decided she liked them. We
covered such a short stretch of ground through the parking lot, pausing a bit
at a corner of the sidewalk where she would leave the walk and head across the
parking lot. But as far as sharing with each other—we covered a lot of ground.
I prepared to go.
“I should go now.”
“You think I F’n care?”
I startled, then laughed out loud, “No, I guess not!” It
seemed the funniest thing because of course these kinds of pleasantries are
meant to mask the fact that strangers are trained to not care in order to make
parting a smooth thing. It is hard to say goodbye to a new person full of
possibility.
Her entire demeanor changed. “Come here,” and I did. I would
have done anything for Eva in that moment. “I love you,” she said, and gave me
a big hug. Very strong for someone so small. “I love you, too, Eva.” I said,
smiling. Totally meant it. She took off at top Terapin speed across the parking
lot. I turned and walked toward F’n Taco Bell.
God apparently will send Angels who use the F word to
substitute for any manner of adjectives. The message that day was delivered
first and last. “You’re lucky.” And “You think I care? Come here. I love you.”
I didn’t see her again before the move, so the chances of
seeing her again are slim, but she’s unforgettable.
I’m lucky.
