Sheeple

Two weeks ago my husband tested positive for COVID-19.

This meant I couldn't hug or kiss him or five days. But I'm grateful that it was only five days, and not a lifetime -- because the vaccine gave him a much higher chance of survival. I'm grateful he got COVID now, after he and I were double vaccinated, and not before, when it could have legitimately killed both of us.

It was terrifying seeing how sick he got, and I don't want to know how bad it could have been had he not been vaccinated. I wasn't feeling well either (but tested negative at first -- tested positive five days later), but he was truly in bad shape... and that was with the vaccine. I firmly believe that had he not been vaccinated, he would have died, and I would never get to hug or kiss him ever again. Five days is a long time, but a lifetime is even longer.

Call me a sheeple all you want, but the love of my life is alive today because of the vaccine. I and my crappy asthmatic lungs are alive because of the vaccine. My husband is alive and we still get to spend the rest of our lives together. If that makes me a sheeple, then I'm a sheeple. No regrets.

The Curly-Haired Man (My Side of the Story)

My fiancé discovered my blog, noticed a lack of posts mentioning him, and insisted I write about how we met. I did actually plan to do a post about it, but my depression (as well as my lungs) hit an all-time low and I am still honestly having a hard time getting out of bed every morning. I'm still feeling pretty hopeless and abandoned by God. But my fiancé insisted, so here we are.

(For his version of the story A.K.A. the Cliff's notes version, click here.)

It was during my first show back in Alberta after graduating college. I stayed in Saskatchewan and finished out two other shows (Jesus Christ Superstar and The Sound of Music), then, two days after Sound of Music closed, I packed my entire life -- three years of hopes and dreams -- into my Chevy Uplander and drove seven hours to a new life in Alberta, in a city that I had only seen twice in my life and never lived in. I had a rental place and one show lined up and nothing else. No job, nothing.

As I've mentioned in earlier posts from 2019, I had planned to make my life in Saskatchewan for several years after graduating. I had already made a couple inroads into theatre there and most of my friends were there as well. But in the course of three or four days, all of my plans for Saskatchewan fell through entirely. I had the one show lined up in Alberta... I had almost backed out of it because I had planned to stay in Saskatchewan but I had procrastinated on actually sending the email telling the people in the Alberta show I was backing out. When everything fell through and I made the decision to move to Alberta, I emailed them asking if I could join rehearsals late (as I was in Sound of Music until mid-June). After a week of deliberation, they said I could join late. I would be joining during rehearsal week five out of ten.

I moved to Alberta on 11 June and reported for my first rehearsal on the 15th. The venue was rather farther away from my city than I thought it was, and I ended up staying in the private campground reserved for the actors (rehearsals and performances took place on a massive outdoor amphitheatre). I didn't bring a tent because I despise camping. Instead, I still had my little mattress that I had bought in Saskatchewan sitting in the back seat of my van, and my plan was to simply sleep in the van, on top of the mattress.

During the first day of rehearsals, it somehow came out to some of my castmates that I was planning on sleeping in my van. But before I could explain that I had a mattress and wasn't just sleeping on a bench seat, one woman maybe ten years older than me insisted that I stay the weekend in her camping trailer. I tried to explain, but she would not hear of it -- "you are not sleeping in a van." I accepted the offer, feeling it would be impolite to refuse her kindness. She said her son was usually with her, but he happened to not be there that weekend so she had a bed free in her trailer.

At the time, I was extremely depressed, having been told repeatedly throughout the previous year that I was worthless as a performer. This was the last show I had lined up, and I had prepared to quit performing entirely. I was also by this time starving myself in an effort to hasten my end. My life was ending -- performing arts had been all I had and without it there was no point in eating to prolong it. My plan was to die very shortly after this show ended.

As such, I was not doing a lot of socialising. Usually I'm fairly quick to make friends or at least talk to people during rehearsals for shows, but my bitterness and my fast-approaching death sucked away all my motivation to do so here. I deliberately isolated myself, telling myself that nobody here would really want to talk to me once they knew the real me -- which they would know real fast once I started talking to them because I apparently have this horrible habit of 'oversharing.' My plan, therefore, was to not talk at all. Nobody wanted to hear it, so I wasn't going to share it.

To that end, I brought Lila, my faithful word processor, to the campground with me. I had intended to sequester myself in my van and work on the Kyrie revision. I brought her with me to the trailer. My host went to the washroom building to shower, and I pulled Lila out of my backpack and put in the key code. She returned an error message. I turned her off and tried again. Same message.

A quick Google search (on my phone and 1GB of data) suggested that her memory was corrupted and she was gone for good. I emailed the address provided in her error message, then set her aside and began to mope, sliding into the abyss of boredom and subsequent despair. Lila had been with me for nine years. I haven't even been friends with any humans that long. It was almost like another death.

My host returned. "They're playing some games in one of the other trailers," she said. "I can introduce you to them if you like."

"No," I said. I was too listless and depressed and had no interest in being around people who would inevitably think I was too much if they knew anything about me. She accepted my answer and engaged me in conversation. I did try, though I'm sure my responses came off as somewhat anaemic. After some time, she said, "Come; I'll take you to that trailer and introduce you." I agreed, telling myself it would be good to at least learn more names.

She led me to a tiny refurbished 1970s trailer about the size of a postage stamp and ushered me inside. I found myself in the middle of a dozen people crammed around a table, on a bed, standing on the two square feet of copper and beige linoleum available for standing on. I was offered a chair -- which I declined -- as well as food and a spot at the game table. I declined the latter as well, but ate a couple bites of something, I don't remember what. A man with a red beard stood in the centre of the tiny trailer and said, "This here is Betsy," sweeping his outstretched hand around the air above all our heads, indicating the trailer itself. Everybody introduced everybody else and I somehow managed to more or less retain all the names coming at me.

I leaned against the counter -- there was nowhere else to be, and I didn't feel comfortable sitting and taking up so much space that way. I was coughing a lot due to my ongoing lung issues, and a curly-haired man with with a handsome beard and an orange hat put his hand on my shoulder at one point. "Don't die," he said. I gave him a very brief overview of my lung situation (this particular coughing spell became pneumonia by the end of the show's run).

Throughout the night I noticed the curly-haired man seemed to look at me a lot and I suspected he was flirting with me. But, unpracticed with men as I am, I didn't dare jump to any conclusions. He wasn't making me uncomfortable, so I stood where I was and observed his behaviour. I was suspicious enough of his intentions by the end of the night that I texted my best friend about it before I went to bed that night. She told me not to freak out, and I tried my best to take her advice.

The next day, we were rehearsing in a large tent due to weather, and the curly-haired man came up to me and flicked the brim of my sunhat.

"Hello," I said, too taken aback to think of anything more eloquent.

"Hello," he said with a smile.

Over lunch I texted my best friend about the incident and she said, "he's into you. Guys don't flick girls' hats if they're not interested in them." I began to freak out a little bit. I couldn't deny I was somewhat drawn to him, but after a previous bout of male attention I'd gotten during a show the previous year, I had made a rule that I don't date guys I'm currently in a show with. If they are still willing to pursue something after the show closes and we're not spending sixteen hours a week in rehearsal together, that's fine, but I was absolutely not interested in dating someone only for the duration of a show's run again. To be getting this kind of attention from a castmate again unnerved me.

As rehearsals progressed, I continued to find myself drawn to him, despite my repeated attempts to deny it even in my own head. Every move I made was soon calculated to be near him as much as possible without it looking like I was trying to be near him as much as possible. (Apparently I succeeded, as he didn't fully realise I was hanging around him deliberately until I told him this after we started dating.) I would watch the entrance to Betsy from the side mirror on my van, and if I saw him go in, I would wait a few minutes, then go in. I never went to Betsy unless I saw the curly-haired man go in first.

During one of these visits, he and I ended up sitting on the bed/couch, in the corner, talking. He told me his entire life story, plus the stories behind all his tattoos -- some three hours' worth of material. I was so fascinated that somebody else was willing to tell me their entire life story, the good and the bad, and drank in every word of it. It was a nice change from me having to bare my soul. I think it was during this conversation that we exchanged phone numbers.

At some point, we developed a pattern of him walking me to my van at the end of the night and giving me a good night hug. I'm not a touchy-feely person, but I was extremely touch-starved and always felt safe in his arms, with my head resting against his chest. I began to look forward to the nightly hugs and would replay them over and over in my head once I was in bed.

Eventually I added him on Facebook... along with about eight other people in the cast so it wasn't as obvious that I was just adding him.

Opening day dawned extremely rainy. Our campground was quite close to the river, and the rising levels were visible to the naked eye. We were told the show would go on that evening, so during the day the cast either hid out in their tents or gathered in the big central tent in the middle of the campground. Several of us spent the day playing card games -- mostly Racko, a game my dad and I have played for years. The curly-haired man sat beside me.

Near the end of the game session, when people were starting to make their early suppers before going to the amphitheatre, my text alert went off. It was the curly-haired man. 'You're awesome,' it said. I wasn't sure how to respond, but eventually settled on 'Thanks... so are you.'

He was called to the theatre earlier than I was to review the stunts. When I got to the theatre for warmup, he met me at the warmup location and we started chatting. He brought up his text to me, then said, "I almost used a different word."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"'Like,'" he said. "The word 'like.' I like you. You're a cool girl."

I stared off into the horizon, not sure of how to respond. I don't actually remember how I responded. I remember thinking how I had to focus on the show and not the fact that a man I was not willing to admit I was drawn to had just said he liked me. I had never had that happen in my entire life. I'd had guys flirt with me and even take me to dinner, but none of them had ever been man enough to actually admit they were interested in me.

I managed to get through the performance without being too distracted, and after opening night, the production team held an ice-cream social for the cast. He and I sat next to each other and the topic quickly shifted to us, as friends.

"What do you want it to be?" I asked him.

"I'd like to get to know you more first," he said.

I nodded.

"If you're okay with that," he added.

"I'm just skittish," I said.

"Why?"

I told him my rule and the story behind it -- how someone from a show I was in led me on and then ghosted me, and how I later found out he was dating a friend of mine (from the same show) and was cheating on her with me.

"That's wrong," he said. "If you don't want to date till after the show, I'll wait."

I told him I appreciated that, and we continued our friendship. We began texting each other during the week -- constantly. Eventually I texted my dad, letting him know of the developing situation. He and my mother were planning on coming to the show the next weekend and I wanted to hear my dad's impression of my curly-haired friend. I did not, however, want anybody else to know in case it didn't work out, and I swore my dad to secrecy.

That Friday, I admitted to the curly-haired man that I liked him back. I still remember the look on his face. My parents saw the show Sunday and I managed to introduce him as a friend. It raised no suspicions from my mother, as I had so many theatre friends already so what was another one? But I had texted my dad his name, and when I said, as casually as possible, "This is Jacob," my dad caught the significance of the introduction immediately. I managed to draw my mother into a separate conversation as Dad and Jacob talked for a few minutes.

I should mention at this point that what I fell in love with was his tender heart and kind personality. I was actually not physically attracted at all at first -- which was the way I always wanted it to happen. I never wanted to fall in love with a guy's looks; I wanted to fall in love with his heart. I don't remember the exact moment I fell in love with his heart because it happened quite gradually, but I remember the moment I fell in love with his looks...

The dressing room for an outdoor amphitheatre is little more than a shack behind the set lined with wooden benches and covered with corrugated tin. There are no walls except the set wall itself. Jacob and I happened to have claimed spots on benches that were back to back. I could look across and just to the left and see him.

One night after the show, he went to put away his costume, and I hung around on my side of the bench, looking at my phone as I waited for him to come back. I heard him return, but didn't look up until he asked me a question. I looked up and his face was RIGHT THERE -- all hazel eyes and freckles -- and for the first time I felt my heart skip a beat at the sight of a man.

We continued talking through the rest of the show's three-week run -- joking about dating and even marriage, but with the understanding that we were not actually discussing dating until after the show. It didn't stop the speculation among our castmates though... Jacob would come hug me before each show and during each intermission in addition to our ever-lengthening good-night hugs. We began holding hands, less and less covertly. It was little surprise when people starting asking if we were dating, and it became harder to answer that question.

He discovered fairly early on that I was only just eating enough to stand upright, and he used his texting privileges to plead with me to eat (spoiler: he still does).

The night before the final weekend of the run, we got talking about it again. I asked what we were doing, and he said, "It's up to you. I've already told you how I feel and what I want. But I want us to decide together, not just me. I won't pressure you into dating. I'll just wait and not say anything about it until you're ready."

"No," I said. "Let's try it."

But we didn't use the words 'we are dating' until two days later. There had been a situation where our friend group had decided the night before to go out to the dollar store that morning. I had been part of this discussion and was, I thought, part of the invitation. I had no connections in my new home city yet so this was my final opportunity for human interaction. I had told them to wake me when they were ready to go.

That morning I woke at 11, found my curly-haired man, and told him I was ready to go.

"We already went," he said.

It gutted me. I was in a funk for the rest of the day. Another friend tried to cheer me up but I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. Finally, Jacob invited me to walk with him and we wandered around the campground. He apologised, explained the reason for the change of plans, and said he had tried to wake me but couldn't rouse me (this was entirely believable as I will probably sleep through the apocalypse). Then he asked my forgiveness. I gave it to him, and the conversation turned to other things, namely, our relationship status.

"What are we doing?" I asked. "Are we dating?"

"Do you want to?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then we are dating," he said.

And that's how I started dating a curly-haired fellow actor in a show that I almost wasn't in. We are now engaged, set to be married within a year.

It's weird -- part of me never thought I would date anyone, let alone get married. I always thought I would be too much for anybody -- after all, literally everybody in my life up to this point has had that exact complaint... 'you're too much.' 'Nobody will ever love you.' 'You need to be more positive before anybody will want to have anything to do with you.'

How then does a man fall in love with me while I am actively starving myself because I had tried so hard to be positive and make myself fit their mould and I couldn't? Was everyone else lying? Is he sent from God? Both?

It is no exaggeration to say I am still alive today because of this curly-haired man. Recovery is still ongoing, but he is just as stubborn as I am. He wants me to live even more than I wanted to die (which was quite a lot). He is slowly convincing me that I want to live too. I am glad I met him and I am even more glad that we get to spend the rest of our lives together.

My Fiancé Takes Over My Blog

(Title is self-explanatory. My fiancé and I thought it would be fun to write the story of how we met and publish both sides of it. For the extended version -- A.K.A. my version -- click here.)

Hi, I'm Jacob, Kate's fiance. I'm 6'3" tall, fluffy, bearded man with tattoos.
This is our story from my point of view.

I want to start this story with why I joined the Passion Play in 2019. The whole winter and start of summer I had people say to me that I was happy that I was in the Passion Play in 2016 and that was true but I was not really happy and not feeling God in my life so I just thought why should I even be allowed to go to do something I loved and the people I loved, if He wanted me to join give me a sign and yet they were all around me and I didn't even know it at the time. It was May 17 I woke and still felt that I should go to the Passion Play and I called my mother and asked what should I do about it, she said trust in God and do what He says so I did and I rode my bike to the Passion Play not knowing His plan so I watched the first half of rehearsal and said to myself I'll trust in God and sign up. When I went to sign up my name -- full name -- was signed up for the Passion Play and I asked around to all my old friends and none of then signed my name, so there was a reason for me to join and I had to find out why.


The day was June 15, 2019, it was a nice sunny day no rain in sight that I remember.
It was the start of that week of PP (Passion Play), and I've been doubting God through 5 weekends, asking 'why am I here?'
Right when we start warmup, I see this geeky little girl (remember I'm 6'3), as I said sunny day, but she's wearing a sunhat, jean shorts, pink fluffy legwarmers, and at the time I thought she was wearing a winter jacket. But I was wrong, it was a rain jacket and 2 hoodies. First impression was 'how the heck is she cold?' I'm a hot blooded man, I'm wearing a tank top, shorts, and sandals. I didn't see her again till lunch but sadly I didn't sit with her because I was sitting with friends (this is my second time in the PP).
When I noticed that no one was sitting with her and she was lonely, I got up and put one step in and we were told we had to start up again.
So I was invited to the PP camp site yet I live in the same town as the PP. I was in a camper called Betsy (I am friends with the owner of Betsy). I was invited for a beer and games so I came and it was fun, still doubting God but I listened. After a hour and a half of of talking and not playing the games (I'm not a game player I like watching them though), the door opened and I looked and 2 people walked in. And ding ding you guessed it Sarah was one of them. She walked in the same outfit that I first saw her in. She was so quiet and shy that she didn't say a word, it was weird for me not to say "hi I'm Jacob and what's your name" and there was no answer so I thought to be kind and wait for a little bit and ask again, that didn't happen because I said "does anyone smell gas?" she by accident turned Betsy's gas stove on. After that I said, "There's a spot next to me." She said, "No, I'm gonna go." I said, "Let's talk for a bit before you go." She sat and we talked for an hour. I was the one who started off the conversation with my story (too long to tell, if you want to know ask Sarah-Kate and maybe I'll do a part 2). She was interested in my story of my faith and pain that was night 1 that I met Sarah-Kate.


The next morning I thought to myself why the hell did I share my life story to a girl I don't even know. It's going to be weird seeing her again today (I thought this while riding my bike to the PP). I was fine not seeing her again till lunch (I had a lot to do; I had 6 or 7 roles to do in the PP). I was so busy I didn't have lunch that day. But I was again invited to the campground for games so I went. And ding ding she came back to Betsy, and this time she opened up with her life off faith and pain (if you want to know about her faith and pain just read her blog). I thought it was cool we kinda have a similar story but not the same, but this time it was a longer talk, like 3 hours' worth, but it was weird I walked her to her van where she was sleeping at the time to say goodnight. Again, something I never do.
I didn't see her for another week and yet I missed talking to someone who got a similar story like mine, and yet I was excited to go back this time and I didn't know why.
I started to hang out with her more and more and I felt happy and it was weird, later in our relationship I found out that she felt safe with me, a guy she didn't even know. I got off track -- I felt angry, happy, and sad at the same time that the days were getting closer to the end of PP.

Opening day I prayed for a sign that what she was was a friend, not a girlfriend, but if she was the one for me, give me a sign. That day she asked to be my friend on Facebook. Later again in the relationship she just wanted to add me but thought it would be weird that she just added me and no one else from the PP.

So I took it to God and trusted Him. That day, opening day, I said to her, "I think I like you" and went to do my stuff, thinking she probably thinks I'm a dick for telling her I like her and leaving right after that. Honestly I felt like a dick. The whole show I wasn't in the same scene as her so I didn't feel super bad. She offered to drive me to the campsite and I thought sh*t she's not gonna be my friend anymore. I was wrong. She said she didn't date guys in the same show that she was in, and I said, "I will wait," and we were friends and that was cool. After losing 3 shows due to weather and a tornado warning, the end of the show was here and she and I were sitting in her van, and said "well, it's the end of the show, what do you think?" She said, "about what?" Then I told her again that I liked her and what she thought of it. We have been talking on Facebook a lot, not about us, about PP things we like and don't like, you know, friend stuff. When she thought for a while she said to me, "I do like you," and I said, "Then let's try it. If it doesn't work at least we can be good friends." She agreed.

And now we're engaged, but that's a story for another time.

I Know The Drill

Do you know what I hate?

I hate being in my mid-twenties and getting a text saying that a dear friend of mine has died and knowing exactly how the next few weeks will look for me because I've done this all before. I hate that I know exactly which music to listen to and what to avoid. I hate that I know how long it'll take for the news to hit home. I hate that I'm planning a roadtrip for a funeral on Thanksgiving weekend. I hate that I'm so matter-of-fact about this because I know the drill -- I hate that I know the drill.

My friends are celebrating weddings and birthdays and anniversaries. They're going on dates and having children and going on vacation.
And I just keep attending a steady stream of funerals.

I came across a picture the other day featuring myself, my sister, Brittney, and one of my dance friends.
It's a candid shot (though Brittney had seen the camera and was posing), taken by my sister at my birthday party in 2012. And I looked at this picture and realised that two of the four people in that photo are dead, a mere six years later. Brittney, at twenty, was the oldest person in that photo. None of us should be dead, not yet. We're all too young, and yet we're dropping like flies. I've almost come to expect that everyone I've ever loved in going to die young and I'm going to outlive them all, lonely and angry.

When one of my good friends attempted suicide last year, I distinctly remember writing in my journal, 'next death, I die too. I'm not taking this anymore.'

That next death happened this past Thursday.

Yesterday morning one of my very good friends asked me how I was doing. I told her I wasn't doing great and she gave me a hug and there was this strange moment in my head -- both this friend and I have survived suicide attempts and here she is, comforting me in the wake of another friend's suicide. Why did the two of us live? Yet... how strangely beautiful that we did, and now we have each other. We have both been through Hell and back.

The moment reminded me of the old Burlap To Cashmere song...
You have one wing and I have another
Seeking shelter like sister and brother...
Hold my hand and we'll make it all right
From this hell that we live in...
It's a long and lonesome ride
When your friends have all gone home...
(Eileen's Song, Burlap To Cashmere, 1998)

Stranger

His stupid car had broken down at work again, forcing him to undertake a twelve-block trek to get back to his house. There were only two blocks to go, but the snow attacking his face at seventy kilometres an hour had gotten unbearable.

Then he saw the parking lot filled with cars and people trickling into the community hall.

Probably some old Southern Gospel Christmas concert going on, he thought, but his desperation drove him inside anyway, if only for a few minutes to thaw a bit and catch his breath.

As he stumbled into the lobby, a tall man with a large belly and glasses passed him on his way out the door and said, "Evening, sir".

He nodded acknowledgement at the large man as he left, then turned and slowly climbed the stairs. That guy had seemed a little young for a gospel concert, he thought, but hey, different strokes for different folks...

He peeked in around the door.

The smell of hot turkey and stuffing washed over him. Laughing and talking swirled around him. A couple of kids darted past him with hardly a glance.

This was no gospel bluegrass/country concert. To be sure, he scanned the room, but there were no instruments, no old guys in tuxedos, not even a microphone on the little platform in the corner.

He took a step inside.

It looked like a family here. The more he looked around, the more he began to think so... except that no family could be this large. There had to be at least a hundred people here.

But there was no doubt that these people knew each other, he could feel it. Perhaps it was all the smiles. They all seemed so comfortable here. He'd been to office Christmas parties before, the kind where you know all the people, yet you tread so carefully to keep up the appearance you've spent years cultivating.

There was none of that stiffness here.

Their obvious familiarity awakened a little pang in him. His family, before the trial, had been all of five people. Since then they had split five ways.

He saw a cooler at the other end of the hall and suddenly realised he was thirsty. After a moment's hesitation, he straightened his shoulders and began to stroll across the room as if he belonged.

In the back of his mind he knew there was no possible way he could make it across, get his drink, and get back without somebody calling him out -- not if they were all this familiar with each other. Any moment now, someone would say 'Hey, what are you doing here?'... 'who are you, how dare you interrupt our private party, who cares how cold it is outside?'...

It came as a rather disproportionate surprise when he arrived at the jug without being questioned.

He glanced around as casually as he could to see that no one was sending disapproving glares his way, then pulled one of the disposable cups off the stack, stuck it under the hole, and pressed the button.

A sort of orange punch came out that he couldn't immediately identify. No matter... it was wet and his throat wasn't. He took a swig.

To call it liquid sugar would have been an understatement. It was like pure maple syrup straight from the tree with chemical colour and even more sugar added. The force of the sweetness nearly knocked him back a step, but he took a breath to reorient himself and drained the rest in three consecutive swallows.

Then he turned and saw the table.

A huge table of food, rich and hot -- some of it still steaming in fact. The stragglers were just finishing filling their plates.

His stomach gurgled. He hadn't eaten since eleven that morning and it was nearly six o'clock. His eyes caressed the bounty before him.

Steaming turkey slices, bowls of cranberry sauce, piles of sliced bread at the end of the table, a rolling landscape of stuffing spread between several glass bowls, a vat of mashed potatoes...

Would it be stealing to take a little -- just to energise himself before venturing out again? After all, what was dinner at his house?

Kraft dinner, most likely. Eaten in front of the computer while playing Facebook Tetris... again.

Turkey and potatoes sounded a whole lot better than mac and cheese for the thousandth time.

He hadn't seen any indication that there was a fee for dinner, but he pulled a twenty out of his wallet and slipped it through the serving window into the jar on the kitchen counter labeled 'Help us keep up our family account.'

Then he got himself a paper plate from the stack and gave himself small helpings of all the salads and cooked vegetables and turkey and potatoes... it all looked and smelled so good.

No one seemed to notice him filling his plate and no one seemed to notice when he went over to an inconspicuous corner and sat down with it.

So he began to eat. And to observe.

It had been a long time since he'd eaten around other people, never mind a crowd like this. It was kind of interesting to look around and watch them all -- the starry-eyed couple leaning against the wall by the dessert table talking as the young man stealthily slipped cookies off the plate at the edge of the table into his mouth; two grey-haired men, three younger men, and a middle-aged woman playing some kind of game with pool cues and what appeared to be wooden checkers; a kid playing a Game Boy beside a severely overweight man in a torn red t-shirt who was talking to an old wrinkled bald man in a suit; six young people playing what appeared to be a ridiculously fast-paced card game; two boys by the juice jug he'd just left having an animated conversation about what must have been weapons based on the nature of their actions; dozens and dozens of other people all seemingly enjoying each other's company.

Part of him felt acutely alone, but part of him smiled. Just being a part of a happy family put a warm feeling in his chest, even though nobody seemed to see him here.

And that was just as well. He didn't want to intrude. He'd just finish his turkey and leave.

And what good turkey it was too. Cooked to perfection, splitting perfectly as his plastic fork touched it and the gravy... oh, the gravy was heavenly. Like butter. Its warmth mixed perfectly with the cranberry sauce as they slipped down his throat hand-in-hand. And then there were the crisp Caesar salads and the smooth mashed potatoes and the tender mixed vegetables and the most delicious slightly seasoned stuffing... whoever was the mastermind behind all this should get their own cooking show.

He picked at the loaded plate for nearly twenty minutes, trying to stave off the inevitable return out into the blizzard. It was so warm and 'friendly' in here. Sure his house would be warm, but the loneliness where there once had been love and laughter was so haunting...

Usually he pushed those memories out of his mind, but now, surrounded by loving people, he wondered if he should. There had been good times... why was he trying to erase them from his mind and focus instead on the emptiness?

He pushed the memories aside again, but promised himself he would revisit them when he returned to his house that night.

He looked down at his plate. Only a few bites of stuffing remained.

He sighed. Well, all good things have to come to an end...

He poked one of the smaller lumps with the fork and brought it to his mouth. Then the next. Then the next.

Two minutes later, only the smallest crumbs remained on the plate. He was full of food, but still lacked the desire to go back out into the blizzard.

Ah well. He'd already intruded more than he should have.

He stood up and scanned the hall, looking for a trash can. As luck would have it, there was one only a few steps away rather than across the hall and past all the people again.

He dropped his paper plate and utensils into it, then began to button up his coat.

As he did he heard something -- a weak voice, almost plaintive, as if calling for something.

He glanced over his shoulder.

An old, old woman in a wheelchair sat at the opposite end of the table he'd just dined at. She had to be ninety-five, likely nearer a hundred. Her face was puffy and sagging, with age spots and wrinkles -- the sort of creases that result from decades of smiling. A plate sat in front of her, and another, half-finished, at the empty seat beside her. No cups at either setting.

The old woman was looking directly at him. She beckoned.

"Come here," she said.

He blinked. She certainly didn't look like the sort who would give him what-for for eating some of the food... and even if she did, she was obviously much too old and weak to get out of the wheelchair.

What did he have to lose? He took a few hesitant steps closer.

The old woman smiled and beckoned again. He continued and finally stood beside her.

"You're going to leave without a hug?" she said. There was a happy sort of 'twinkle' in her voice.

He had no answer.

She held out her arms. He shrugged, knelt down, and accepted the hug.

"How are you?" she asked.

"All right."

"You're not really, are you?" she asked.

He blinked again. Was this woman psychic?

She continued without waiting for his answer.

"Ah well. I will talk to the Lord for you." She patted his hand.

"Um... thanks."

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"Yeah... to you too." He stood; hesitated.

"Thanks," he finally said.

She smiled.

"You're welcome."

He turned and left.



"Mum? ...Who was that?"

The old woman smiled as her daughter placed a cup of juice in front of her.

"I don't know," she said. "But I think he needed a hug."

~

In memory of my great-grandmother, who passed away August 2011 at the age of 102. As far as I'm aware this story is fictional, but I think she would have given a hug to a stranger off the street.

So Needed That

Sadie, I've known you for five years and yet I haven't known you at all.
I could pick you out in a crowd, but I couldn't bring myself to compliment your outfit. I could follow your voice in a crowded room, but I couldn't walk up and say hello.
I haven't seen you in nearly a year. We haven't talked to each other in more time than that. I've always just sort of co-existed in the same church as you. We've been on camping trips and mission trips together, we've been in Bible studies together, but we've never really spoken.
Five years have passed. You, Sadie, have remained cheerful and friendly, compassionate and helpful. I have drawn farther back, terrified of my own bitterness and refusing to acknowledge my own emotional turmoil.
Today, on your first Sunday back home in nearly a year, the worship leader invited everyone to get up and greet those around them.
I saw you coming toward me and I extended my hand, fully expecting the typical quick handshake and a quick 'good morning' without even eye contact as we both search for the next person to greet.
You squealed my name and rushed at me with a hug. I only just managed to move my extended hand fast enough to not stab you in the stomach.
You know Sadie, I can't remember the last time anyone just walked up and hugged me for the sake of it. Sure, a few friends hug me from time to time, but now it's more routine than anything. It's like a handshake between us now -- 'hey, I see you, I know you're here, we're still cool as friends, did you get my text?'
Sadie, I don't know if you will ever know what that meant to me. Girl/girl hugs can be so easily misinterpreted these days, but you took the chance anyway.
Because even though I didn't fully realise it until you squealed my name, I so needed that.