{"id":2331,"date":"2021-12-30T19:28:45","date_gmt":"2021-12-31T02:28:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/?p=2331"},"modified":"2021-12-30T19:28:45","modified_gmt":"2021-12-31T02:28:45","slug":"i-meant-what-i-said","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/2021\/12\/30\/i-meant-what-i-said\/","title":{"rendered":"I Meant What I Said"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

prompt:\u00a0Write a story about two people who don\u2019t know each other but bump\u00a0into\u00a0one other on New Year\u2019s Eve (either once or every year).\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

available at Reedsy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first time I saw her, her eyes were haunted, her scars fresh. She came through the line in the soup kitchen, pointing at what she wanted but never uttering a sound. If I had to guess, I would say she was nineteen or twenty. That was New Year\u2019s Eve, three years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two years ago, I volunteered on New Year\u2019s Eve again, and saw her again. The haunted look in her eyes was pushed down, hiding under despair and dark circles. Her scars, the result of some horrendous fire, were still visible, but the color almost matched her medium-tan skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was wearing a sticker on her jacket, probably from a twelve-step meeting somewhere. It said, \u201cHello, my name is Anita.\u201d Once again, she uttered no sounds, but pointed out what she wanted. She seemed thinner, frailer. She seemed to have aged several years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHi, Anita,\u201d I said, \u201cI\u2019m Tim. Have you got a place to stay warm?\u201d I made sure to include the card for the women\u2019s shelter on her tray.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked up at me, for just a second, before walking away with her food. I watched her sit across from another woman, grey hair, missing most of her teeth, with the leathery skin of someone who has lived rough for years. They signed to each other between bites. The older woman cackled at something, but Anita didn\u2019t seem amused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By last New Year\u2019s Eve, I had learned enough sign language to be almost conversational. I was able to talk to the older woman, who I found out was Maribeth, once a beauty pageant winner, fifty-four years old, and homeless for the last seventeen years. Maribeth had a crank habit, and claimed she\u2019d been kicked out of shelters and rehab programs all up and down the west coast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I asked about Anita, and she grew angry. She was signing too fast for me to keep up, but I caught the gist. They\u2019d had a falling out. Maribeth\u2019s signing slowed for emphasis as she told me, \u201cThat bitch thinks she\u2019s too good for my meth. I tried to share but she said no. I bet she\u2019s working for the government.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not wanting to aggravate her further, or get drawn into her delusions, I told Maribeth that she should eat before her food gets cold\u2026and that she was holding up the line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t see Anita until after Maribeth left. The despair in her eyes had turned to resignation but the haunt was still buried there. The cold outside made her scars stand out pink against her throat and hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She removed her heavy parka, four sizes too large. Where she had been thin the previous year, she was positively gaunt, and needle tracks marked her arm. She looked closer to forty than twenty-five.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As she approached, I signed, \u201cHello, Anita. Do you have somewhere warm to sleep tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked up at me and signed back, \u201cWho cares? And I can hear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood to know,\u201d I said. I grabbed one of the cards for the women\u2019s shelter and was about to put it on her tray. Instead, I turned it over, wrote my name and number on the back, and handed it to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anita looked at the card like it was poisoned. \u201cI don\u2019t want anything from you, if that\u2019s what you\u2019re thinking. I\u2019m just worried about you. If you go to the shelter, talk to Julia Marquez, she taught me sign, she can help. If you need someone to talk to, you can text me at this number, any time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot my hero,\u201d she signed with an angry huff, but I noticed that she put the card in her jacket pocket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot even close to a hero,\u201d I said. \u201cI just care.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As she ate, I noticed she was watching me like a hawk. Every interaction I had with the others as they came through the line. \u201cDo you have someplace warm to sleep tonight? No? Here\u2019s a card for a men\u2019s shelter over on Second.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a slight delay as a woman holding an infant and trailing a toddler came in. The left side of her face was swollen and purple, the eye almost swollen shut. Dried blood from her nose and lip mingled with the tracks of tears. When I made a move to help her, she cowered from me, so I backed off. \u201cSister Kathleen,\u201d I called, \u201cwe could use your help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sister came over at once and bundled the three of them into one of the side rooms that connected with the main body of the chapel. I stared at the door that had closed behind them far too long, trying to calm the reflexive part of me that wanted to find the monster that had done that to her and pay them back in kind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took a deep breath to calm myself, wiped the tears of anger that had started to form, and turned back around and went back to serving. My phone chimed, and I finished helping the man who was so intoxicated as to be reeling on his feet to a table before checking it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was an unknown number. The text message said, \u201cDo u mean it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMean what?\u201d I texted back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cU care – any time – that shit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at Anita, who was staring holes through me. I walked to her table and said, \u201cYes, I meant everything I said. I care, and I\u2019m available any time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat was her name?\u201d she signed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJulia Marquez.\u201d I texted it to her as I said it. \u201cShe\u2019s the real deal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anita rose to leave, and I thought I saw something different in her eyes\u2026a faint glimmer of hope. Sometimes, that\u2019s all one can ask for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t text me at all after that. All I could do was hope for the best. As New Year\u2019s Eve rolled around again, I volunteered for the fourth year running. Aside from some of the sisters, it seemed that the volunteers were new each year more than the people we were feeding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was about to introduce myself to the new volunteers when my phone chimed. I looked at it; a new text from Anita. \u201cBehind you,\u201d it said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned around, and there she was. She\u2019d gained some weight and shed the extra years, looking more her age. Her clothes, while casual, were neat and clean, in her size, her hair styled, and best of all, she wore a smile. The circles under her eyes were gone, and there was true happiness in them. She held her arms out, and I copied her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anita stepped close and gave me a big hug. As I hugged her back, she began to sob. I looked around for help, but Sister Kathleen just grinned at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2014is something wrong?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook her head no and clung on. After a minute or so she stepped back. \u201cNothing\u2019s wrong,\u201d she signed. \u201cI\u2019m just so glad you\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I noticed that she was wearing a volunteer pin. \u201cI\u2019m so glad that you\u2019re here, on this<\/em> side of the line.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI thought I was done,\u201d she signed, \u201cbut you told me you cared, and I thought, if the dork at the soup kitchen can care enough to learn sign for me, I should be able to care enough to ask for help. So I did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was about to ask her for more details, but she pulled something out of her pocket. It was a keychain from Narcotics Anonymous that said, \u201c9 Months.\u201d The pride in her smile was unmistakable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey say we can change lives doing things like this. Want to see if it\u2019s true?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She signed at me, \u201cYou dork, of course it\u2019s true. I\u2019m working next to you so you can translate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot if you\u2019re calling people names,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNever,\u201d she signed, \u201cat least not here. I work for the church as a janitor and I do this every month now, you should join me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think I will,\u201d I said. As always, I meant exactly what I said.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

prompt:\u00a0Write a story about two people who don\u2019t know each other but bump\u00a0into\u00a0one other on New Year\u2019s Eve (either once or every year).\u00a0 available at Reedsy The first time I saw her, her eyes were …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[208],"tags":[214,210,209],"class_list":["post-2331","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-trunk-stories","tag-drama","tag-fiction","tag-short-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pxT7i-BB","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2331","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2331"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2331\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2332,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2331\/revisions\/2332"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2331"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2331"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2331"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}