want to beg your dad to leave, but before you can look in the other direction, he’ll tell you that he has a niece that looks just like you. A flashing red light will go off in your head, letting you know that it’s time to get out of there, but you’ll be frozen to the seat in terror. You’ll assume that he’s triple your size. When you don’t answer, he’ll look down into his foggy glass filled with something brownish, and when he tells you his name, know that it’s okay to forget. You’ll notice that his hands are quietly shaking, maybe shivering from the cold, and his face looks a bit softer, sadder than it did at first glance. He’ll tell you that he’s always wanted a daughter, but his wife passed away four years ago and he could never dream of having a child with another woman. He’ll tell you how he didn’t know it was possible to love anyone, or anything, that much until she was gone. He’ll tell you her name was Laura. You’ll feel sorrow for this large man, which will overpower your fear of him, and you’ll ask him how his wife died. He’ll say it was from a motorcycle accident, and begin to break down as he explains how much she loved to ride. He’ll start to reminisce about how she rode every day on her black and yellow 1997 Honda Valkyrie, a little faster than what he would have liked, but that’s one of the reasons he loved her. As he sniffles and wipes his eyes with his small napkin, already moist from the condensation of his cool drink, pat him on his bowling ball-sized shoulder with your small, pale hand and tell him that it’s how she would have wanted to go. You’re only fourteen, but you’ve seen this gesture and heard this line in movies you’ve watched late at night with your mother, and figure it’s the right thing to do. He’ll look at you in confusion, and say that she deserved to live for another forty years and pass peacefully, and although his expression starts to turn to anger, you’ll say that if she truly loved the sport, then that is how she should have gone. You’ll talk for twenty more minutes about Laura, and life, and ignore the constant buzzing of your cell phone in your pocket. When you think back to your mother at home, and know how she must be worried, realize for the first time that some things are more important than others, and right now this stranger needed you more than her. He needed your short, fourteen years of experience at life to fix the thirty-three of his own, and you’ll feel special. An intoxicated stranger has no walls built up, no reason to hold back, but rather a simple desire to share with the world their story. There is no fear, nor judgment, simply the desire to connect himself to something in a time when they are most alone. Know that this stranger may show you a different kind of pain that life forces upon us, and the vulnerability that comes as a result. Know that your influence on them may be just as important as theirs on you, and keep in mind that this man is no exception.
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Hameline