I walked into the big box grocery store, got a cart and meandered through the islands of specials as I made my way toward the fruit section. As I turned a corner I noticed a Native American woman. She had a cast on one arm, a couple of black eyes and stitches on the bridge of her nose. Probably middle aged, shorter and heavyset with graying hair, possibly someone's mother or an early grandmother. As I glanced at her she looked up and into my eyes, noticing my attention. What the hell had happened to her? Did she get the crap beat out her? Abused? Car accident? I don't know, but she had to be hurtin'.
I gave her a small smile and a nod of my head, then turned my attention to the fruits and veggies on display, not wanting to embarrass her by my attention. Since she was in the same section, we met up again at an aisle end and again I gave her a smile. The third time this happened we both ended up in the potato section. As I examined the spuds she came up to me, getting my attention and then asked “Do I really look that awful?” I stood up straight, looked at her face, into her eyes, and said with a smile, “I'm betting you look a lot nicer most of the time, eh?”
She gave a short strained laugh, then said “Everyone who looks at me gets this expression on their face and then they just turn away. I figured I must look pretty horrible.” How do you reply to that? I didn't. All I could do was give a friendly smile. She tilted her forehead onto my shoulder for a moment, gently accepting a little human concern and acceptance. Something to let her know the whole world wasn't against her, smiled again at me and left.
I don't know who she is or what happened. I didn't ask because it was none of my damn business. I didn't judge her because it's not my place to judge. But I was glad to let a little light and love into a hurting heart. When our paths crossed again during the shopping expedition we would swap smiles. I knew she had to be hurtin”, but her heart seemed a little lighter, her eyes a little brighter and just maybe the pain a little less. I'm not a hero. I’m not looking for a medal. I just know that if that was me, I'd want someone to at least acknowledge my existence. Smiles are free. But more valuable than gold.
I gave her a small smile and a nod of my head, then turned my attention to the fruits and veggies on display, not wanting to embarrass her by my attention. Since she was in the same section, we met up again at an aisle end and again I gave her a smile. The third time this happened we both ended up in the potato section. As I examined the spuds she came up to me, getting my attention and then asked “Do I really look that awful?” I stood up straight, looked at her face, into her eyes, and said with a smile, “I'm betting you look a lot nicer most of the time, eh?”
She gave a short strained laugh, then said “Everyone who looks at me gets this expression on their face and then they just turn away. I figured I must look pretty horrible.” How do you reply to that? I didn't. All I could do was give a friendly smile. She tilted her forehead onto my shoulder for a moment, gently accepting a little human concern and acceptance. Something to let her know the whole world wasn't against her, smiled again at me and left.
I don't know who she is or what happened. I didn't ask because it was none of my damn business. I didn't judge her because it's not my place to judge. But I was glad to let a little light and love into a hurting heart. When our paths crossed again during the shopping expedition we would swap smiles. I knew she had to be hurtin”, but her heart seemed a little lighter, her eyes a little brighter and just maybe the pain a little less. I'm not a hero. I’m not looking for a medal. I just know that if that was me, I'd want someone to at least acknowledge my existence. Smiles are free. But more valuable than gold.
Nebraska, June 3