We never met, and as such, sadly, I doubt we shall. You carried that rare wall of light that could turn a midnight street corner into an oasis. And despite bearing a few chevrons of confidence on my social jacket, the few times I saw you, I was instantly a shy child: eyes downcast, stuttering a meager "hello", wondering if this was what my older siblings meant by "having a crush". But my gratitude for one particular day: one otherwise unremarkable day so far back that my pictured memories are starting to yellow at the edges, is such that I have long felt the necessity to write this letter. And now I have some time, and my fingers have some skill in expression that they lacked before. So here goes something.
I had finished classes for the day, having mentally dined on the usual smorgasbord of politics and history. Those were my favorite meals then, and honestly, I've never stopped my taste for that particular cuisine. But the afternoon sun had already begun to lose its fight against a thuggery of thunderclouds, so toward my car I hustled.
I was minutes from home as the traffic light claimed its authority over the intersection. And while Depeche Mode caressed my cheap speakers with their trademark synth-pop perfection, I assumed my usual casual people-watching posture. The populace of the area were also making their way to dorms or off-campus housing: a few couples, chattering away in docile conversations. But if the street which you were walking on was a theatre, then you were center stage: solo and magnificent in your silent monologue.
And that was the how the playbill would read: A Young Woman Says Nothing, Yet Reveals Volumes. And somehow, I got to be the entire audience: fortunate enough to see the brief but elegant show.
You may wonder how and why such an event could transpire. Really, it was all in the simplicity: not a wild dance or absurd walk. No, just a smile. In the less than 20 seconds or so you were on that stage, you started a smile. And it crept across your face with the urgency of a master baker, spreading chocolate buttercream frosting over a wedding cake. In that smile's company, your eyes were far away: floating in a morning coffee solace that only the grandest memories can brew.
And I got to see that moment; something so rare I've only been fortunate enough to experience a handful of similar privileges. I wondered what could cast such a spell over you: a new love? Or hearing a family member (miles away and fighting hard) had finally beaten cancer, or perhaps some grudgingly difficult group project had received the highest grade in the class? Really, by now you've forgotten, and perhaps it's better that I don't know. What matters is that for one sliver of an hour, I got to see another person's pure joy: a sugar cane happiness that even Hallmark's senior writers fumble to put into words.
The light turned green, and my peripheral vision dragged me out of the performance. Not wanting you to think I was staring, I obeyed the laws of polite commuters and pointed myself in the direction of home.
I suppose it's obvious that I haven't forgotten that encounter, though what happened earlier or later that day, remains a mystery. But I've always wanted to describe how much I appreciate you sharing a bit of yourself, even if it was an unintentional gift. I hope I've done that. Moreover, I hope that you're safe somewhere, that the years have been gentle, and now others get to share the oasis of you. Thank you.
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