People pass one another every day, in the coffee shop, across the square, at the courthouse, in the grocery store. Many times, these passings go unnoticed, just another movement sewn from Point A to Point B in the fabric of our daily lives. But once in a while, there’s a connection — a moment attributed to chance, chemistry, schedules, fate, geography, karma, higher power or clumsiness — that ties two people together for longer than just an instant. It isn’t always discernible exactly what makes one or both of them relate to each other, but in that moment, there’s something more.
Now, granted, I can have a 45-second conversation with a clerk about lemons in the supermarket and feel a connection. My tell-me-your-story face and way-too-approachable demeanor has wooed many a stranger to share the darnedest things with me. From marital snafus to the benefits of frozen yogurt on one’s colostomy bag, I am rarely surprised anymore at what folks will unguardedly divulge to me.
And, for the most part, I am equally receptive and reciprocate. Some of the most interesting conversations I’ve ever had have been with folks I don’t know. There’s a safety and rawness of being in the moment and saying or hearing something that might never be revealed in one’s more familiar circle. Oh, I also get the nuts from time to time, but those are kind of fun, too. Sometimes my bubble isn’t quite on center either, so maybe they flock to their own kind.
Some of these uncharted encounters have left memorable impressions on me. Like the teenager in the concession stand who decorated a Twinkie with a candle and stopped all the lanes to acknowledge my 6th birthday when my parents were otherwise occupied in their bowling-leagued worlds. Like the professor who believed in me and who still exchanges Christmas cards with me to this day. Like my classmate, Mike.
Mike was a kid enrolled in special education classes at my school. He wasn’t mainstreamed in our studies, but was for extracurricular activities. At every dance from seventh grade through 12th, I would peek through my ’80s perm to see Mike storming the dance floor straight for me, leaving a wake of school girls scrambling from his path. Without fail, Mike would ask me to dance. And without fail, I would accept.
I thought about Mike often through the years. I wondered how he was and whether he’d be at our 20th class reunion. When I was nudged to look toward the door, I saw him standing there, excitedly scanning the banquet hall. This time, I crossed the room to him. He wasn’t doing so well physically anymore, but he still managed to hug me like a stuffed bear he’d just won at a carnival. I felt my seams giving way. And later, when the lights dimmed and the music began, here he came, storming toward me to dance once more.
A glance, a touch, a kind word, can bind. Even Bogart realized that with all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, her walking into his was an improbable occurrence with a lasting impact.
And while I was somewhat slow on the uptake, I’ve had my own Bogart encounter recently. Last fall, while at the contra dance at the veterans hospital in Fayetteville, I began to notice a gentleman holding me a bit differently than others. A handsome man with a quiet confidence, he held my hand and gaze slightly longer than anyone else. After several dances over several days and longer releases of the hand, he finally declared quite abruptly that he’d been divorced for years, was set in his ways and was told that lawyers were crooks, but he’d walk me to my car. I hastily replied that I’d been divorced for years, was set in my ways and didn’t like doctors, but that he could walk me to my car.
And he did. And still does.
Today, you may meet someone whose life you change, or who changes yours. You may become lifelong friends or you may never learn their names. You may pass them in your daily routine only to notice one day, they aren’t there anymore. But perhaps, regardless of where you wind up, you both know you are better off because in that moment, for whatever reason, you connected. Two people who truly saw something in each other that went unnoticed by the rest of the world.
And maybe, just maybe, someday you’ll dance.
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LISA KELLEY IS A WRITER, MASTER GARDENER, ANIMAL LOVER AND ALL-AROUND GOOD OL’ SOUTHERN GAL WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO PRACTICE LAW AND MEDIATE CASES IN DOWNTOWN BENTONVILLE.