I will remember her

She was a Quirky Lady

That night I found myself at a late night bar downtown and as I watched my son and another musician set up the sound system, I glanced around the room.

Everyone appeared to be ready for fun and fellowship as they talked, laughed, drank their beverage of choice, danced and partied. As the night continued, the crowd grew, more people danced and the atmosphere was festive.

I sat alone at a small table and observed the people who were there for a good time. I continued to watch as many of them paired up and danced. Late in the night an older lady that I had seen at other venues, came right up to me, introduced herself, then asked could she sit with me. I said, “of course”. She began talking before her fanny hit the seat.

Soon after her joining me, several in the audience headed over to my table, said their goodbyes and walked out into the night. This very odd lady often dressed in quirky attire. As a matter of fact tonight she wore a pink tutu skirt over her tight fitting black slacks. She often wore long feather boas and long flowing dresses of gauzy material that flowed in the air as she twirled around to the music.

This lady was clearly in her 50s and looked out of place in the crowd but that never seemed to be an issue for her. I had been amused by her every time I had seen her. It appeared to me that she was wearing costumes for some reason. Maybe she was just living her youth that she had lost out on, or trying to recapture her youth that she loved. The thought had crossed my mind on several occasions as I watched her dancing around, totally oblivious to her surroundings, that  “perhaps she is mentally compromised or emotionally damaged in some way.”

I had observed her in the crowd for months but this was the first time I had an actual conversation with her. In the past months she only nodded and smiled and I did the same.

As it turns out this lady was enjoying her last evening in our town. She began telling me a horrific story of events in her life that left me breathless at times. I had to restrain my reactions and not let her know just how shocking her story was to me. As she told the story, she pulled up the legs of her tight stretch pants one at a time and showed me some of the most heart-wrenching scars I had ever seen. I was employed at the time in an ER at a local hospital, so it took a lot to surprise me, but surprise me she did. 

It struck me the deeper she got into her story that she was absolutely not mentally impaired in any way. She was articulate and she spoke with precision and clarity that amazed me.

In addition to the rare disease she was fighting, she had been a victim of extreme domestic violence. The violence was the reason she had come to Mobile, Alabama from the west coast as a means of escape. The illness was why she was returning to the west coast. 
She said even though she was moving back to the west coast she would be hundreds of miles away from her abuser. 

People will tell you anything and often there is not a word of truth in the story. I was certain she was real and she was honest in her details. She told me that her illness was so rare that she had been filmed for the show, “The Doctors” and that it was going to be aired in a few days. This was one of the reasons she was leaving at this time.

I came to a stark realization that night as I processed her story of sheer pain. Her dancing and twirling was her way of laughing in the face of her illness. Her attire was an expression of freedom and flair as she missed her youth in the grips of all the agony. I learned that she was much younger than I thought, this awful illness had robbed her of her youth.

She explained that she was leaving very early the next day. She would likely never be back in our area. 

All those months I had observed her, she had also observed me. She said, “I came to Mobile randomly, for peace, for safety, for new surroundings”. 

She said, “The second night I was here I meandered out of my apartment and walked into a place where your son was playing and the song he was singing spoke to me.” She said that when she returned to her apartment, she slept more peacefully than she had for years. A week later she entered another venue to see my son was playing there and immediately she wanted to dance and feel his music, his voice and the noise of a happy crowd of young people all around her. “It was heaven to me”, she exclaimed. I told her I was so happy that he was able to help in some small way. She said that he had helped her more than he would ever know. The 3rd time she saw him, she heard him say into the microphone, “There is my momma over there!” as he pointed to you and you smiled so big!” She told me that also touched her deeply and made her happy. She approached him when he took a break that night and told him how much his music had helped her and he hugged her and said, “Thank you so much, I’m glad”. 

She said “my purpose in sitting here tonight is to say Thank You!” She told me that she would always remember me and my son no matter where life took her, we would be with her. I have thought of her since that night and I have great hope that she is peaceful and happy wherever life’s journey has taken her.

That night was our only conversation. I never heard or saw her again.

I continue to be amazed at how we touch one another in life, our words and actions can make a huge impact on others; and often we do not know. Whether it is people at work, people at gigs, or people in general, they have a way of  teaching me lessons such as she did that night. 

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

Don’t wallow in self pity, you are luckier than you may think.