The Stranger's Key

An unrelated photo of delight when Mallory and I were accidentally twinning

Sometimes a stranger knows just what you need.  Instinctively, intuitively.  They know nothing about where you’ve just come from or where you are going, or what is going on in your life.  But somehow, they hold the key to you.

​On my long list of things that are most definitely not on my bucket list (for which you can imagine your own name for), is, now I know for sure, bailing a friend out of jail.  I never know what is on said list that you are imagining names for until, as they are wont to do, things appear there as if written in Harry Potter’s magical ink and I’ve accidentally said the magical words.  But no matter what our wishes are, when we get that call, we drop whatever unimportant thing we are doing, and go and collect our shattered and disheveled friend from the hands of the surprisingly helpful detention center staff (which, in case you are wondering, they are indeed surprisingly helpful).

We deliver said friend to their abode, comfort them as best as possible, promise to help in any way we can (which is surely not many, being completely ignorant of “the system” and the laws now dictating their life), and eventually leave to return to whatever unimportant thing we were doing before we got that call.  Except, now it’s well past lunchtime and we’re hungry and fast food is the only game in town, so we comply with the laws of nature and head inside for some decompression and fast food.

I am finishing the food that has represented a meal, wiping my hands on a plethora of napkins placed on my plastic tray, when a soft spoken lady who has been cleaning the tables nearby approaches me and asks if I need a joke.  I DO need a joke!  She gives me two.

I leave, nourished not by the food that represented a meal, but by the gentle stranger who knew instinctively exactly what I needed to head back to my unimportant tasks with a smile on my face, heart full of delight.

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