Juxtapose

So. I truly am, as the tee shirt Dad gave me for Christmas once said, "Flypaper for Wackos." Basically meaning, no matter where or when I go somewhere, I am likely to gain some sort of weirdo following me around. I use the word "weirdo" in a kind, gentle, and loving way. It's descriptive, not a put-down.

I was at the supermarket today, shopping for Mrs. A (a job I can never seem to fully quit), when this kindly-looking guy with a thick French-African accent turned to me with a smile and commented on how much he likes fresh fruit, all while fondling the mangos for freshness (apparently). I said, yes, me too, I'm all about fresh fruit. He took this to mean I was interested in a lengthy conversation and asked me if I was from Lowell, because he was. He pointed towards a wall of the supermarket and said, "Right over there is where I live, just around the corner." I said I was from Dracut, but fairly close. I smiled, you know, like, nice, great for you, all that stuff. Then he told me he worked as a nurse for the nursing home where Yiayia was back when she was alive. I commented on how nice of a place it was and how happy we were to have her be in such a nice place and with such nice nurses. He nodded, said that it is a nice place and oh, are you a nurse?

By this time, I'm wondering if this is like, some God-commissioned angelspy who happens to know everything about my life but just wants me to repeat it all for the heck of it. I said, carefully, that yes, I was a nurse, and no, I wasn't working, and no, I hadn't applied at his nursing home. He said that I should, but it was hard work. Yes yes, nod nod, for sure, it is... I made some niceties and said how good it was that people were willing to do nursing in a long-term care facility like that because it's such hard work and anyways, I'm on the clock, nice speaking to you, see you around maybe.

Then he was like, "So.. you live in Lowell?" I said, no, nearby, but maybe someday(???!!?!). Hadn't we been over this before? He said, "Hold on! Do you have a pen?" I said no (lie). He ran up to the produce boy, grabbed a pen from him, and took my shopping list from me to. write down his number and name. He said, "I hope you find a job. My name is Julius. Keep in touch, okay? I have a nice apartment - two bedrooms, nice, big bathroom. Very nice. Keep in touch. Nice meeting you!" And off he went, shaking my hand as he left. As I wondered what he meant by giving me his number (was he trying to get a date or was he trying to find a subletter for his apartment, or was he looking to mentor a nurse?) I noticed that I didn't see him leave the store. I can only figure that he either ascended into heaven in the soda aisle or I blinked and he ran off. It makes me wonder whether, if I called the number, rather than ringing in a dingy two-bedroom-but-spacious Lowell apartment, I might call the number, only to hear it ring and ring and ring, waiting for Gabriel to pick it up, the glossolalia of angels humming in the background.

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Handzel's Dad was in a motorcycle accident on Friday night and passed away the same night. I have been in quite a pensive, contemplative mood as a result, my heart broken by the strain of the heaviness in it for my dearest of friends and her sweet family, also my friends. I have always thought a lot about death, but in a way that is detached from a lot of true-life experience with it in the sense of tragic death. I always thought a lot about my Dad, who lost his father, my Papou, when he was only 24 years old. My Dad had to take care of all the funeral-related issues, as well as take care of my Yiayia in her grief. At the time, my Dad had me, only a baby, and a new wife and a house, and I guess that as a kid, I always thought that, at the time when Papou died, my Dad was a grown-up. To me it seemed that 24 years old was basically adult, a time when dealing with the death of a parent was young, but not young enough to be improbable or dealt with in the manner that a "young" person might have to deal with it. Since I've been a little older, grown up, gone to college, gotten married, I realize now that 24 is still very young. I realize that even in our youth we're living on our own, paying our bills, getting married, raising children, and facing death and taxes and life in general. I thought I saw a little more clearly how hard it must have been for my Dad to lose his Dad at such a young age.

Anyways, even up until Friday when Handzel called at 10:44PM, I thought I knew. In fact, really, I still don't, I guess. But when I got that call as I sat up on the couch in my quiet little apartment, I heard the choking sobs over the line as Handzel tried to explain in a fury of hysteria what had happened to her Dad just a few hours before. My heart filled with the horror of the feeling of being 300 miles away from my friend and being unable to fix the one thing that would take away the sound of the shock and sorrow in her voice at that moment, and as I heard these primal sounds of grief escape my own mouth, the likes of which I have never felt or expressed for anyone ever before that very minute of my life, I realized, finally, just a bit more clearly, how very young it is to lose your Dad in your twenties.

Hug your mom and dad. Kiss their cheeks and tell them you love them.