A quick smile or simple wave is all it takes
By:Minx McCloud
I often wonder what happened to the old man at the train station.
Every morning when I dropped Jim off for work, the old man would be standing there, apparently waiting for someone to pick him up.
Well, perhaps he wasn’t that old, but his weathered face was craggy and when I first saw him, his eyes were tired and empty.
He had graying hair, torn jeans, a faded denim jacket, and a lunch pail indicating that he was en route to a job.
In the beginning, we merely glanced at each other as I passed him in the parking lot. One day, my husband and I had a rather heated argument on the way to the train. Jim slammed the door of the car and stalked across the parking lot without kissing me goodbye.
Stunned, I sat in the car with tears streaming down my face. Suddenly, I was aware that the old man was staring at me. I smiled at him through my tears and shook my head ruefully. He nodded and flashed a brief smile, and a small bond was forged.
Each morning, I dropped Jim off and smiled at “my old man,” as I called him. He would smile back. Gradually we progressed to happy waves. His eyes were not as empty anymore, and my mornings started out with a happy smile.
I think we actually looked forward to seeing each other. I know I enjoyed seeing him each day.
One day, Jim and I were early and the old man waved to me as he walked by our car.
“Who’s that?” Jim asked curiously.
“Just a friend I’ve never met,” I said, leaving him a bit bewildered. But he’s used to that.
Three months later, my “friend” was gone. Who knows where he went? He could have gotten another job, or moved, or bought a car of his own. Or perhaps he died. At any rate, the mornings are not the same without his small gesture of friendliness.
Do you ever wonder what happens to the people who pass through your life?
I do.
As I go about my business, I notice everyone. I establish relationships with complete strangers, and in some cases, measure my life through their actions.
There’s an elderly woman who used to pass my house each day at a certain time. She walked briskly and was obviously on a power walking program. She always carried a big stick and I pitied the dog foolish enough to attack her.
I called her “the lady with the stick” (inventing clever names is not my strong point), and we had only a nodding acquaintance. When she passed the house, I knew the mail would be delivered in the next 10 minutes. Both she and the mailman adhered to rigid schedules.
I got so used to seeing her each day that when she “disappeared,” I was disoriented. For one brief moment, I even wondered if my mail would come. What happened to her? I don’t know, but I miss her.
There are so many people like that in my life — the crossing guard, the guy who rounds up the carts at the grocery store, the girl who waits for the bus in rain or shine.
When the patterns of their lives change and they are no longer part of my everyday routine, I can’t help but wonder what happened to them.
The funny thing is, I never see these people anywhere else. You’d think that if they live here in town, I’d see them in a store, at an athletic event or in the library, wouldn’t you? But I never do. They seem to have their niche in my life and they don’t deviate.
They just disappear after awhile.
I wonder what would happen if I ever struck up a conversation with any of them. But I don’t.
A friend of mine who is into the occult once theorized that these people are but ghosts who move through our lives.
If I were to talk to them, he says, they might respond, but the conversation would be odd, because they are lost souls who are doomed to repeat a certain action day in and day out.
After they serve their time, they move on to … well, whatever waits for us all.
No, as tempting as this romanticized view is, these people are very real. And they’re important to me, because after awhile, we get used to seeing each other and we smile or nod.
Those little gestures in a big, unfriendly world cheer my days, and when those people are no longer in my life, I miss them.
When we die, we have certain people who mourn for us. That’s to be expected.
But wouldn’t it be neat if we made such an impression on someone in some small way — by a nod or a wave — that a complete stranger would miss us when we’re gone? I think it would be an honor.
So I keep on smiling.
Minx McCloud is a free-lance journalist who writes about life in New Jersey. She can be found smiling the day away at [email protected].