Sainthood

Empathy [n]

1.The intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another.

After a unexpectedly distressing phone call on Sunday at 8:41 am, which went on for the better part of an hour, and resulted in my loss of appetite and severe emotional trauma; I went for a walk. Phoneless, Zune-HDless and moneyless but nookfull I dragged my hyper-excited self out into the pervasive and bright sun of Charles Village.

"God help me. God help me. God help me." was my mantra as I stumbled down the side lane of redemption on Calvert St. No wise monk or angel greeted me. I passed 31st street, then detoured left on 33rd -- B&N being my target. "God help me. God help me. Gold help me."

I ascended the lazy slope of the B&N steps and pulled on the double doors. Nothing moved. It was closed -- to be opened at 10am. There is nothing gloomier than unilluminated books.

Glancing to my left, I saw a few bodies lounging in the sun, perhaps waiting for B&N to illuminate the books. To right, the sun shone emphatically on the path up St. Paul to University Parkway. Perhaps I will find a shaded bench on which to lounge and read my nook. Perhaps walking in the sun will burn this upsetting experience away.

"God help me. God help me. God help me. Why me? Why me? This is not for me. This is not for me. This is not worth it. This is too much for me. I can't believe he did this. How inconsiderate. It was weighing. I will not talk to him again. This not for me. God help me. Why me. Not me. This is not for me. He is so selfish. He is so selfish. His mind is contaminated. I can't do this. It ends here. It ends here. It ends today. No more. No more....He was nervous. He meant well. He meant well." The dawn of empathy. "I'm over-reacting. Now he thinks I hate him. Now he must be worried. Now he must be really worried. Poor thing. I'm too cold. I'm too cold. I'm too cold. What is wrong with me. What is wrong with..."

"'Scuse me? Can you tell me where to find the nearest grocery store?" A strange, accented but soft voice inquired. I spun around to face the confident face of a girl at least five inches shorter than me. She must have been around my age, but she had the youthful and carefree quality of a later adolescent girl. Eying her long black pants, slinky red blouse, and long ribbed, woolly, black overcoat. So blasphemous was her attire against the brilliance of the morning sun, that I paused to readjust my moral compass.

In answer to her question, I swiveled like a compass needle trying to find true North. When I found it, I asked: "How far are you willing to walk?" The question seem to confound her and produced only an "...ummm". So I pointed in the direction of the Giant and I instructed her to walk along Univeristy Parkway until sees a Giant to her right. More confusion rippled across her face. She was clueless.

"Are you new here?" I asked and she said yes. Upon her response my mind quickly conjured up a heinous scenario of her being lost in the heat of the day with that long coat. "I'll walk you there then. It's not that far." I said. I needed to walk anyways. Relief, smiles, relief -- and I supposed Americans just gained 100 points in her mind.

"What is your name?"........"Rebecca"

"Where are you from?"......."Sri-Lanka"

"Sri-Lanka?"............"Yes, but I am Kenyan?"

"How did you end up in Sri-Lanka?"................"I work there....."

And so it went on as we walked past Papa Johns, Punjab Halaal Meats, and the empty space left by the Waverly Farmer's market. The sun sucked us like a giant golden leach, and there was no shade to be found along the way. At this point she removed the blasphemous coat and allowed the sun to have its way. More smiles.

"Here is the Farmer's market where you can buy fresh produce in Saturday mornings."............."What's a farmer's market?

"Here is the Giant!"............."Wow! It's so big."....."That's why it's called Giant."

I introduced her to the air conditioned entrance and was about leave, when the picture of her being lost was projected unto the wall behind the security guard. "Do you think you can find your way back?" I asked, sounding like a parent. "....um" she said scrounging up her face like a four year old who was caught with the forbidden cookie in his mouth. "I am 50% certain..." She said. "What!" I thought, "she knows about statistically uncertainty." I was inclined to leave to her own wits if she had said 75%, but 50% is the bane of reality.

"Ok, I'll go in with you and then walk you back."......"Are you sure."

I read my nook manual as she selected apples and whatnots. Having apples in the summertime is ridiculous to me. Some gentlemen said hi and I smiled.

Now unto yogurt, milk, bread and butter. The table staples.

"Aren't you going to buy something to cook. Meat, veggies?"........"The kitchen has no pots and pans."........."oh"

After mishandling two muffins, we headed to self-checkout. For the first time since I met her she exhibited fear - which is always warranted with these darn self-checkout machines.

"You are a blessing from God." She said as I checked out her dreadful apples. "A real blessing from God. I don't know what I would've done."

"Then the phone trauma had its purpose..." was my immediate thought. Did God fancy that being hte only way to set me off wandering in Charles Village early on a Sunday morning? Was that his plan? Or was it pure serendipity.

After signing her up for a bonus card, we headed out with three bags -- me holding one. I elected to show here the thrift shop where she can buy pots and pans (etc) for less than $5. We passed Ace, and just as we turned left at the Rite-Aid, my legs became dense, my eyes widened and my mind hesitated. This wasn't possibly possible. Caleb.

Fancy that, meeting a a Rebeca and a Caleb within the span of 1 hour. I knew him as we used to attend the same church. A hug, a greeting, some explanations.

"You live around here? What are you doing here?"................"I'm headed to my new church. I change buses here."

"What happened to your car?"........"I gave it up to keep my house."........."Oh"

"Why did you leave the old church?"............"I felt like God wanted me to be at this new church. Also I'm trying to be an ordained minister -- I'm working on that...(blah blah blah blah)"

"Why aren't you at church?" He asked.

"I have to take Rebecca home." Was my response. He took my number, then Rebecca and I were off.

"There is the thrift store."............"ok"

In 20 minutes or so we were back at here heavily secured apartment building on Charles Street.

"If you need anything else..." I heard myself going through American formalities. My brain was rolling its eyes at my adherence mainstream norms.

"Thank you she said." Then took my email, name and number.