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Wilted Lettuce

The Source

Her clothing was layered against the cold. None of us in the store that day made much of a fashion statement. Once the mercury dives below zero, style goes out the window. I’d made one of those last minute decisions to pick up some groceries before a meeting in Jacksonville and figured that I could knock of my tiny list in ten minutes, so I went to big grocery store that has more than two check lanes open. Somewhere between fresh produce and the deli, she approached me. I didn’t recognize her but she had the look in her eye that seemed to say she wanted to speak so I stopped. That’s when she grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve been feeling guilty for twenty years.” This doesn’t often happen to me, especially in fresh produce. “About what?” I said. “It was about twenty years ago. Oh, you probably don’t even remember me.” She was right. I didn’t. “My husband had that accident and you called to tell me how badly you felt and that you would be praying for him.” A person’s mind does a good deal of racing at times like this. Accident? Twenty years ago? Did he die? Who am I talking to? She went on . . . “That meant so much to both of us. . .” (He lived!) “And after we got our lives back together I meant to write you and tell you how much that call meant. I just want to thank you.” I told didn’t lie to her, but I didn’t exactly tell her that I remembered the incident. “That’s very nice of you to tell me that,” I said, “even twenty years later.” She patted me on the arm and said, “I’m glad I finally got to tell you. Thank you.” It was one of those cold February days were you figured that God just wasn’t trying very hard, the streets were ice packed and I was worrying about getting back to Arenzville after my meeting. . . a meeting for which I would now be ten minutes late. But you know what? I didn’t care. Sometimes a thing will come along that sort of holds you up a bit but it’s entirely worth it. The sincerity in the lady’s eyes, her heartfelt expression of thanks. . . It’s easy to let winter get you down and you wonder whether you really have anything valuable to contribute to the world, then something happens that just lifts your spirits a bit. I took my time in the deli section, not so much inspecting the fried chicken and lasagna as congratulating myself for once upon a time doing the right thing. There are days when I go to bed wondering if I’ve done the right thing all day long. I eased my way down the meat counter, each steak and chop smiling at me. “Hey, you’re a good person,” they seemed to say in their own meaty way. In college we used to play a game while shopping at the old IGA on Morton. My roommates and I would go grocery shopping together but we’d make a rule that we couldn’t leave the store until at least one of us found someone that we knew. It was a strange little game, but it was the 1970’s when strangeness didn’t seem so . . . well . . . strange. So, knowing that I’d already missed a meeting which I didn’t want to attend anyway, I purposely steered my shopping cart down one aisle after another, telling myself that I wouldn’t check out without running into at least an acquaintance. It’s one of the town’s most popular stores and I’m old enough to know a few folks so I figured this would be a short assignment. It was my luck to shop for groceries on a day where every shopper there must have been from Tibet or Pakistan or Pisgah. I didn’t know a soul. But the memory of that lady stayed with me. I was happy. I was happy to be playing this little game with myself and I was even happy to be losing. I thought back to all the idiotic things I’d done in my life then smiled when I remembered the conversation a few minutes ago back among the tangerines and onions. I thought, “Dog-gone it, I’m okay! I made that lady happy! It may have taken me twenty years to find out, but once upon a time I was a genuinely nice guy.” By the time I reached the front of the store my right arm was strained from patting myself on my back. And to top it all off, I ran into someone I knew! The same lady was in the checkout lane. Score! I ran into a friend even though I’d met her only fifteen minutes ago. I was just about to say hello, when I saw her reach out to the man in line ahead of her and say, “I’m sorry, but I’ve been feeling guilty for twenty years. My husband was in and accident and you called. . . . “ It was enough to wilt my lettuce.