Photo courtesy John Moore
I have one of those faces, the kind where a stranger will sit down and confide all kinds of personal events and occasions, happy and sad, broken hearts, personal history.
I make notes afterwards when something captures my attention.
Recently at a cafe, I was sitting harmlessly and writing in my journal when a middle-aged woman asked me could she sit down at my table as the place was packed.
In due time she said she could write a story about her sister so I politely cocked an eyebrow at her. I was taking a break as I only have so much energy in my day now.
Her sister had always been trouble, since the day she was born, she ran away at fifteen and had a baby at sixteen that she gave up. Her father banned her from the house when she showed up one time, drunk and abusive. She would have been seventeen then, Anne, my temporary friend, told me. Her mother's heart was broken. Rosie went off again and they would hear from her now and again, looking for money. It was obvious she had a booze and drug problem. She was with a whole series of fellahs who abused her and, Anne suspected, pimped her out as she complained she couldn't work because of injuries.
Dad died and mom was left on her own even though Anne invited her to live with herself and family. They hadn't heard from Rosie in a long while when mom got cancer and lasted only a few months before succumbing.
Rosie showed up year ago at her doorstep demanding her share of the estate. Anne refused to give it to her even though she had set her sister's portion aside in a trust account. She knew she would hasten the death of her sister who already looked wrecked and at least thirty years older than her age from hard living.
Surprisingly, Rosie accepted she wasn't going to get the money unless she sobered up and got clean. She next asked where their mother was buried.
A month after that, a cop showed up at Anne's door and asked her to come to the graveyard.
She did. And there by mom's grave was a small tent with the opening facing the grave and Rosie sitting inside talking away at it.
The cops had received many complaints about the "homeless old woman" occupying a gravesite who never stopped talking.
Surprisingly, Rosie was sober and coherent.
"I'm telling her everything," she said to Anne, "My whole life story, so she will understand why I didn't see her."
Anne had a brainwave.
"Come home with me so you can tell it to me every night," she said gently,"And I will type it up, and you can read it to her every day."
And slowly, with the cop's help, they gathered up the tent and the bits and pieces left of Rosie's life.
"And what a story she told me," Anne looked at me, tears glistening on her lashes, "It would make the very hairs stand on your head."
And she got up then and left without even a goodbye.
They say Canadians are friendly people. Maybe a bit too friendly with a stranger. Anne probably felt a whole lot better after relating the story. Maybe she never had someone close to tell.
ReplyDeleteI would imagine there would have been some shame around it Andrew and Canadians are friendly but Newfoundlanders are waaaay over the top! If you heard about "Come from Away" a musical about Newfoundland which stormed every country in the world you would know what I mean :D
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It's an interesting story you tell and I'm sure Rosie's was even more interesting. Harrowing too, maybe.
ReplyDeleteMy daughter has everyone telling her everything on first meeting or even across the counter in the deli where she works., I can't understand how it happens!
It's a kind of a gift in a way. Even young men sit down and tell me about broken hearts and rejection. I was frustrated in not knowing Rosie's complete story, I could only guess.
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Snap. I have one of those faces too. I put it down to LL pheronomes, but the truth be told I have always had it. It is a privilege (and sometimes a burden, but a privilege just the same).
ReplyDeleteYes, it really is a privilege that we have those trusting faces, don't know what it is as my family tell me I can look quite sour at times.
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There are so many sad and tragic stories like Rosie's. And their friends and relatives are often rebuffed when they try to help. That was a clever idea to type up her story so she could read it to her mum.
ReplyDeleteI thought it remarkably kind Nick and it showed me how much she loved this poor addicted sister of hers. A lost soul finding comfort at her mother's grave.
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People are endlessly fascinating; their stories.
ReplyDeleteYes, they are and we never know what's behind the strangers' faces we see everywhere.
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Isn’t it great that you are now well enough to go out and about and actually visit cafes instead of being ‘confined to barracks’. Far more stimulating than being stuck at home.
ReplyDeleteI feel ecstatically happy about his Cathy, so many years when I really couldn't go anywhere. I'm still not up to speed but have accepted this may be where I stay.
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Or is this a story from your, say, not too distant pass? Anyway, a good 'un.
ReplyDeleteI have had strangers tell me stories, but nothing quite so graphic as this one. Perhaps it’s easier sometimes to confide in people you don’t know and will never see again. . I must confess that I am generally not a willing audience for such events. Something that really bugs me is when people on a plane when I am captive insist on talking to me, even though I am engrossed in my book and they surely must be able to detect that I am not a willing participant. Over the years I have had to tell, politely I hope, one person that I didn’t wish to listen to her religious beliefs, and another that I didn’t share his political views, nor was I prepared to engage in a defence of my own. Privacy is something I cherish.
ReplyDeleteI agree with you on those plane ignorami, even when they sense the lack of interest in their pronouncements, they drone on. A good response to this, which I have used is: "this is an assignment I have to edit so I need all the time on this plane/train/bus to do so." And political/ religious openers should be completely off the table. But I have to admit I have had a few "true confessions" conversations on planes which have fascinated me.
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I once sat next to a fellow on a long bus ride, during which he told me his entire life story. It was so fantastical that I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Several times afterward I tried to fact check his story and most people told me that it couldn’t possibly be true for this or that reason. But it was such a great story! I loved it!
ReplyDeleteOver the years I ran into him again several times, each time being a surprising chance encounter. He always had impressive stories to tell, not so much about himself but about people, animals and things he had encountered since the last time we met. He’s gone now, but it feels like a privilege to have known him.
I laughed at your comment about Newfoundlanders being “over the top”. A Nova Scotian friend tells me that she loves to visit her son living near Cornerbrook, but can only stay for so long due to the complete lack of privacy from friendly locals. Definitely a different country :-)