As she stumbled toward the door and I slid my beloved SoBe onto the counter, I couldn’t help but watch her go. Could she possibly know what her presence had done to us? That it had not only revealed her neediness, but showed us our own as well?
Because whether or not she really needed that money from the cashier’s pocket and whether or not she really needed to feel close enough to me to share a smile, I don’t know. Perhaps that’s the wrong question.
Perhaps it was we who needed her.
Whatever the locking of our eyes meant – at the very least – I think it meant that we were no longer strangers, any of us.
And that together, we had witnessed something beautiful.
Kelli Woodford lives in the Midwest, surrounded by cornfields and love, with her husband and seven blue-eyed children. They laugh, they play, they fight, they mend; but they don’t do anything that even slightly resembles quiet. Unless it’s listening to their lives, which has proved to be the biggest challenge of them all.