On the Other Hand

There's just some things that happen all too abruptly, but they remind me that I'm not the only one in the world I have to care about.

His name was Wilbur, and I didn't even know that until 3 minutes ago.

You see, most of the time, when running to the store for milk, bread or things I don't really need, but just want to spend the money on, I like to make sure that I don't leave the house without at least checking my appearance (make-up, high heels, clothes). I can't help it, I was brought up that way. In my closet you will not find a pair of sweats or even pajama pants that some girls seem to believe look "cute" during the middle of the friggin' day in public (it's July for godssakes people!) - but I digress. The only problem with ensuring that I look presentable, it attracts annoying googly eyed men who are starved for somethin' young and different from what you usually find at a small town Wal-Mart.

But on one of my trips, when I wasn't feeling to well (or nice looking at that) I was in the produce section looking for something to munch on that I'm not allergic to; I felt, in the back of my head, that someone or something was staring at me. I turned to see a very short, light-skinned man that was robust and round but had a very full head of black hair. He smiled a very full-watt smile that for some reason, made me react with an instant smile. With a equally cheery hello, he nodded in my direction and for once in along time, I wasn't upset with being talked to. For the next couple of years after that, whenever I saw him, the smile and jolliness never faded and it was always a very nice, change of pace feeling when he asked me how my day was. Mind you, I'm not usually treated this wonderfully everyday. I started going to bingo (yeah, like an old lady, I know) to keep my thoughts off of the daily grind and he and his wife were there also. Two very nice and friendly people who, in my opinion, were the sweetest individuals who didn't even need to be. I almost gave up on thinking people were still capable of being that way.

Later on, after thinking he was full-bred Hispanic, he shocked the bejeezus out of me by speaking in perfect Hopi (1/4 of my tribal belonging.) With this nameless guy that I knew, who never objectified me and always treated me with respect, I am just utterly saddened to hear that he died in a car accident coming in from out home (a phrase we Natives use when you go to your family village, whether it be Second Mesa or wherever). I'm speechless at the thought that I never took the opportunity to tell him how nice he was and how much of a blessing he was to just even say "good afternoon" after I've had a bad day. I will miss him and I need to carry on what he has started in me. Be friendly to everyone, live happily, because you just never know.