The milk spilled across the table and all over the floor. Its white stain splashed outward and became a ghostly firework there beside the toes of his shoes, which barely scraped the old hardwood floors so used to absorbing these accidents.
From invisible to spotlighted in just a quick second of time, this young man was found to be the object of glances between sips of coffee and the subject of comments between discussions over bites of three egged omelets.
I didn’t see him at all before. But now I did, there in his navy blue light weight zip up jacket, as he looked around restlessly, nervously, and innocently clueless as to how to turn this twelve ounce volume of milk from splattered to gathered up again. His low hung chin and fleeting sideways glances, a mix of embarrassed and somewhat shy, spoke clearly of his dislike for the attention.
And yet overwhelmingly and increasingly more noticeable to me than that awkward teenage discomfort was the utter lack of sympathy from six other souls sitting by him. They did not have the excuse of being strangers. They had some knowing of him. They might have even been in relation to him, bound by that blood that we claim as family, as the people you are from and held to for life.
As he floundered to dab an ocean of liquid with his small bit of balled up napkin, the guests at his table took another bite of their toast and eggs sandwiches, wiping the crumbs on the edge of their lips with their napkins.
A girl who looked like his older sister sat across from him but looked at me. I saw her distant shame, her silently begging for me to overlook her as an accomplice in this act. Twice she caught eyes with me in this way. She wanted me to preserve her. And I looked back, silently begging her to give kindness. For her to not miss this chance to cover over her loved one.
I knew so much about this family now in the few seconds a young boy had to manage his own miniscule five second failure in life. I didn’t need to see another scene from their lives to have a pervious insight into what many dealings among them must be like. I grieved the absence of nurture, of compassion, of consideration for one another. I ached for their inability to cover one another’s shame. To see one of their own struggle and to not only not help, but to also back away from it as if they too will be seen differently.
I watched them file out the door in a cluster, held together by association but not by love. I imagined them going out into the world so heedlessly and that perhaps no one would be much better for being near them. No one would be comforted. No one would be loved. No one would be improved. No one would be nurtured. This amoeba of souls together and individually would come and go in this world without the intention to make a dent of loving it into something better.
Perhaps I assumed much. But perhaps I did not.
I grieved that there are so many like this. And I longed for the scales of selflessness to not be so heavy in this direction and for this lovelessness to not win out in the hearts of mankind. And should tires go flat and groceries be dropped and milk be spilled, that instead of shame that there would be someone there to fall to a knee in loving kindness.
Photo Credit
Photo is pixabay creative commons
Guest Author Bio
Kelly Christian
Kelly Christian is ever reckoning life through wonder and conversations, always wishful for the next chance to put everything that means anything into type. Her heart is riveted by faith, questions, beauty, creation, identity, and sparks in conversations with strangers and friends alike. Kelly resides in Charlotte, North Carolina where she writes creative nonfiction, teaches English as a second language, and enjoys loving on her four little dignified souls alongside her husband.
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You did it again! I have been that sort of sensitive observer sooooooo many times. Of course, “some” may try to make logic of this experience, but as the delicately in-tune and astutely aware humans I feel you and me both are, not much is lost on us. You write beautifully. You have managed to inspire me. Not only to begin writing again, but to gather inspiration from the nuances in daily living. Thank you. ❤️
If he was really a teenager he might have been more embarrassed if someone tried to help him. Maybe he gets violently angry when people try to help,him or something. Did they openly belittle him ..or just let him clean up his own mess? This actually Sounds very presumptive from one interaction. Where was the waitress? Why didn’t you offer extra napkins yourself?
Hi Dawn! I think you ask good questions, since a scenario like this leaves lots of room for possibilities. As an observer, I did my best to write about it accurately and fairly. I’m sure it could sound like I’m saying “Let’s be kind” and then I just sat there like a lump. All of this happened within about thirty seconds, as I watched him flounder, I saw his desire for help, and I surely thought someone he knew would respond to his obvious hopes. This was not an ongoing scene. But it did reveal much. Although I wish I could fix every less than stellar situation I witness, I know that there are times that the ownership is on me to take a step towards the problem and there are times I have to hope the people closest to the situation will love well. Based on the point of my writing, I hope my heart is clear that I always intend to show kindness when there is any window for me to do so. Grace and peace, Dawn. Thanks for reading.
This makes me want to pay more attention to the people around me. A kind word or look can make all the difference in someone’s day, but the lack of human response can leave others even more isolated and awkward. Thanks for this little picture and reminder.