Forgiveness IS Divine

I am very intentionally  being careful about not naming names or in some cases denoting the sex of the persons involved in this blog:  not just  because I do not want to offend anyone nor because I am concerned about legalities (okay maybe a just little bit). I simply I do not want to empower when empowering is inappropriate. Revelation lies in the message, not the identities of the cast members.

There is a woman I know from town who takes social avoidance to a new level. She is quite skilled at her craft. The community college might even have her give seminars on the subject to their adult education classes. I am not sure. This woman does not simply avert her eyes and walk away when she sees you. She does a full on bolt. I can’t tell you how many times I have been in Key Food or Kings and out of the corner of my eye see a shadow dart down the milk aisle. And I think: Was that so-in so or did I just have a paranormal encounter with a ghost? Nope. It was so-in-so. She was avoiding me—again. For ease of storytelling, I’ll call her Casper.

Recently, the cosmos decided to reveal its infinite wisdom. The stage was the hair salon. I arrived at the salon one day to notice Casper sitting in one of the chairs. Her head was covered with foils and her hairdresser was in the process of setting the timer for the heat lamps surrounding Casper’s head. Oh my God I thought, this scenario was just too good to be true. How was Casper going to avoid me now? Not only was she captive in her chair, but even if she wanted to bolt, there was nowhere to go---the salon is too small--- the only place to hide is either in the bathroom or in the tub of the washing machine.

Now, I did have a choice. I could have just walked past and avoided her. But this was just too delectable. So, I chose to say hello to her hairdresser and “by accident” notice her sitting there. At first she tried to bury her foiled head into her People magazine but her hairdresser told her to keep her head up and in doing so, was forced to acknowledge me. She gave me her standard salutation: a high pitched Hiiiiii how are you?!! And we exchanged pleasantries all the while I plotted what would the best way to be mean to her. Typically I am not mean (or at least I don’t think so--or at least not in the moment--I am really good at being mean after the fact when there is no one there to be mean to). But there had been some meanness between one of her children and one of my daughters, so I postulated this was the cosmos portending it was retribution time.

So I first inquired about her “golden” child in an attempt to make her feel warm and fuzzy until I could go in for the kill (not that I had any idea what the kill was ). But something unexpected happened just after I inquired about her not-as-golden child: child #2.  Upon inquiry, Casper scurried to sugar coat a not very sugar coat-able reality. Watching her paint this veneer of happy happy happy good good good everything is fine fine fine when I suspected that that likely was not the case was exhausting—for her and for me. All of a sudden I felt sad: Arthur Miller Death of a Salesman-kind-of sad. I no longer felt smug. I felt pity. I felt forgiveness. I no longer wanted to be mean to her anymore. It was time to move on.

I had stepped into Arthur Miller’s play. I needed sunglasses to cope with the illumination. Casper was  Willy Loman—trying to forever spin expectations and dreams of grandeur into reality. And Child #2 was Biff Loman—whose glory days were forever extinguished the day high school ended. And her other child was Happy Loman-an invisible character with an invisible existence. My three daughters in toto were Bernard—successful and moving forward. And so I had no choice but to be Charley, the sympathetic neighbor.

Retribution paid a visit that day but not in the form I had anticipated. Retribution had come in the form of gratitude—and that in my world, expectations and realities were equal partners. I was so so fortunate. My life was pretty damn good. There was no need for me to ever run away from people in the food store. No need to make crap up and then try to convince people of it. Anything anyone wants to know about me they can read right here on my blog. I may be dramatic, but there is no sugar coating (hyperbole definitely, but sugar-coating, no). And as Nene Leakes from the Atlanta houseswives would say: ‘Fo real honey.

Forgiveness really is divine.

http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/salesman/themes.html