Am I the only one who imagines life stories for others? I've also always liked the saying above, and try to live by it before I become judgmental of others (although I admit I sometimes jump to conclusions that I shouldn't and sometimes assume the worst about people). Sometimes, when running, I'll peak at the front window of someone's house and invent stories for the people I have never met who might live there. When I check out at the grocery store, I'll from time to time invent a story for the cashier based on just the few words he or she and I exchanged. I wrote this a few weeks ago when I was in that frame of mind...
The alarm blared early from the six-inch smartphone on the nightstand. As she opened her eyes and a dream faded from her mind, it took a few minutes to realize where she was - waking up beside her snoring husband in the vaulted ceiling bedroom of her still new-feeling home. Ouch. Why did her arm ache? These mystery pains since passing up age 40 were no fun at all. She pulled workout clothes from her drawer, and heard her teenage daughter's first alarm sound a few minutes later. She got ready quickly, the day's events ticking through her head. A full day of meetings and research tasks awaited her after an hour-long commute to the office. Kids to marching band and soccer practice this evening. Trying to carve out some time to read a chapter of her textbook for her online class. What did she have handy to cook for dinner? Did the car need gas on the way in? What did she need to remind her teenage daughter and husband about today? She missed having lots of friends and other moms close by. She wished her husband would do and remember more on his own. She wondered if there was a way to get her teenager to believe she actually knew something about how to get through high school... She checked on her teenager quickly to be sure she was waking up, put the garage door up, and headed off to the rec center to meet a friend for their workout.
As she checked in, he said, "Good morning."...
He sat there thinking about what he could do after work today. Should he meet up with a few friends, maybe grab dinner and a beer out somewhere? Or should he instead spend some time at his computer searching job listings yet again? Really, how long would he have to work here as a college graduate? He'd started working at the rec center as a teenager to pay for gas and fun with his friends each weekend. He certainly never expected to still be working here six years later, after earning a bachelor's degree. But he couldn't seem to get a job anywhere else. The few interviews he'd had didn't lead to job offers. He wondered how much longer he could even afford to rent out his tiny apartment with his roommate. Maybe it was time to consider moving away to a different city where there might be more opportunities with his degree. Or maybe this degree was as worthless as his dad had said and he should go back to school.
"Lunch" time came early since he started work at 5am. He just had to get out of this building, so he headed to his apartment to make a sandwich. Crap. They were paving the other half of the parking lot today. He passed two men in hard hats.
He pulled off his hard hat, wiping the streaming sweat from his face with the back of his gloved hand. He wasn't sure how he'd get through another ninety-plus degree, high humidity day. For a moment, an image of his recently-passed mother flashed in his mind. Why hadn't he listened to her when she begged him to go to college? Instead, he was stuck in this job. Sure, sometimes it felt good to look back and see exactly what you'd accomplished each day. A road, once full of pot holes, could be smooth and black in a single day's work with his crew. But, every afternoon, he came home sore from work, and then put on a smiling face while his small daughter crawled all over him and his preschool son asked him to wrestle. On the way home, he stopped by the grocery store to pick up milk for his young wife. As tired as he was, he knew she'd be tired, too, after working this morning and spending the afternoon with the kids. The cashier didn't look very happy, and he hoped she was doing ok. Isn't that the same lady who the manager seemed to be scolding a few days ago?
She moved his milk across the scanner quickly, but didn't say a word to him. She barely felt like she was there at all. Why couldn't the manager understand that she tried her best to get here on time for her shift? Her son's dad didn't show up to watch him AGAIN, and she'd had to call her neighbor and beg the older lady to watch him through her five hour shift. This store was hardly giving her enough hours to get by the way it was. If she lost this job, then what? Her parents were not going to help out again, and how could she even bring herself to ask? And all these people coming through her register aisle just looked down on her. They didn't know she'd graduated near the top of her high school class. They didn't know about her short stint in college, ruined by the so-called father of her son. Next in line was a lady who appeared to be in her 40s. What was she doing checking out in sunglasses? The nerve of some people to come through her aisle with just a few things when they could easily go through self checkout! This lady obviously had everything she could ever want, and here she was out shopping without kids right after a cushy job, probably taking her time to get home to the nanny who watched her kids and her sparkly house cleaned by someone else.
She kept the sunglasses on as she checked out. Her mind was a million miles from the task at hand. She'd been crying all afternoon. How much longer could she pretend everything was ok? Her husband was drinking again. She wasn't even sure what time her teenage son got home last night, but at least he was home when she left this morning. When she tried to pay bills yesterday, there was only enough to pay the mortgage for now. Her family hadn't been to church in months. Her life was absolutely out of control. But without a job to support herself, how could she even begin to make things better? She walked out to her car, loaded the necessities she'd just purchased, and started to drive home. On the way, she passed a street corner where a man was holding up a sign, but she tried to avoid his gaze and didn't even read the sign.
He had been walking across town all day. The packaged pastry a kind lady had given him this morning was just a memory now, as his stomach rumbled. Last month, he'd hit rock bottom. Lost yet another job. Stopped going to counseling again. Couldn't face the few family members who were still willing to speak to him. Just up and left, filling a backpack and hitchhiking south. And here he was, with no plan for what came next. Maybe he should just kill himself and get it over with? No one would care anyway.
