Crying Game

This morning, I woke before Jill and she loves coffee in the morning so I decided to drive to my favorite Starbucks. I hadn't showered and was looking rather gnarly so I figured.. drive-thru, hat.. done.

I slipped on my ipod and the first song was from a compilation from my bestest friend in the world, Sharon. It was "Heavenly Day" from Patty Griffin. She says something about no worries and sitting back watching the trees sway...

Cried.

Saw a beautiful Mallard smashed in the road in front of Aquinas' ponds..

Cried.

I want so much for this to be my history. My past. My memory.

Of course the most beautiful boy working at Starbucks happens to be at the window today. He's been there a long while. They all know me by name when I place my order... it's a picky drink, of course. He calls me "sweetheart" which, normally, would make me bristle. Coming from his whiskey smooth voice, it clams me. I say "keep the change" and he thanks me.. leans forward into my window, astonishingly close and says

"Melissa, I pray for you every night and think about you every day."

His eyes are arresting.

"Jill let us know what's happening with you and... "

I stop him and tell him thank you, touch my hand to my heart and tell him it means a lot. He says "Have a beautiful day, sweetheart". I say "You too!" and smile from my heart.

I pull away and stop in the parking lot to cry. Head in my hands. I hate when people feel sorry for me. But, it was so beautiful, that exchange. It wasn't fake or awkward or forced. It felt like he was washing waves of goodness all over me. It was true.

Somehow I think I will adore life more when I am past this. When I can feel safe enough to do anything I please. That's wrong, though. I've always appreciated the life I've been given. Every day I fall in love with something new. A plant, a color, a smell... whatever. Every day I see the miracle in the design of my cat or the repeated patterns of lighting/vein/branch. I see all of it with open eyes. I'm not asleep. I'm awake.