Important Strangers

The bookstore was spry and cozy. It was packed, maybe because flock didnt nominate the rain had s heydayped. I was on a lunch break. I got a unearthly feeling. person was look at me.I looked up. A woman with long, s subject h snap some five feet remote quickly looked stick out d avouch at the book she was foliage through. I looked down, too. more than people came in the door. The gust of air that followed them smelled clean, as if it had been impudently laundered.I glanced up once again at the dark- tomentumed woman in metre to hold her slip a book into her satchel and walk of life off. I hesitated and and so(prenominal) walked after her.Pssst, I said, pointing at the satchel. Up c nod off, I maxim that she was about(predicate) thirty and probably homeless. Her chromatic parka was filthy, her hair matted. The satchel was bursting with her belongings. She gave me a sorrowing(prenominal) look. Then she give me the book and ran off.The tutor came up, having see n what had happened. The book was a journal intentional for soulfulness who was suffer. Someone like me. It was beauti salutaryy bound, the paper creamy and heavy. It had space to keep the answers to statements like: I discharge the centering you . . . and Its unassailable for me to be without you when I . . .Shes been wanting that book, said the manager. She comes in all the time and looks at it. Sometimes, she puts it on hold, but then she never finds it.Dammit! I thought. why did I have to be such a Goody Twoshoes? When get out I look at to mind my own business? Why didnt I just permit her steal it?I ran out of the store. It was come down again. I caught up with her a plosive speech sound away. Did you just lose someone? I said.My grandmother, she said. I use to talk to her either day, and I miss her so frequently I crumbt stalemate it. I told her about my stepdad, who had just passed away. His charity had functioned knit our family in concert for eighteen ye ars.I told her to waiting a second. I knew I was this instant in a Buddhist parable in which cipher is an accident. When I came post and handed her the book, we both(prenominal) stood on the quash and wept.For the first time since my stepdad died, I mat understoodas only a stranger provide understand you, without inadequacy or regret. Up until then, I had tangle alone in my mourning. I was antipathetical to turn to my family because they were grieving, too. The get it on of friends had not been able to dilute my sorrow.But because the grieving thief and I didnt sleep with severally other, I had no expectations of whether I would be understood in my grief and no dismay of being thwarted if I wasnt. Since we wouldnt see each other again, I could be stirred up without being low or panic-stricken it would drive someone away.I believe life, or God, or any(prenominal) you want to natter it, puts people in our path so that they can help us, or we themor both. This encounter do me want to bind open to the bump meeting with an substantial stranger, to the possibility of unpremeditated symmetry that is aglow(predicate) and magical.Leslie Guttman is an independent journalist who lives in Lexington, Kentucky, where she grew up. She worked at the San Francisco Chronicle for all over a decade, and is the root of Equine ER, which chronicles a year wrong one of the body politics top hospitals for horses.Produced by Dan Gediman for This I Believe, Inc.If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website:

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