Being a writer, or one who loves to write, I have always been observant of my surroundings. When others notice a lovely flower, I like to stop and study its stamens and the grains of its petal, the hue and tone of color and its overall health. Because sometimes it'll come back to me when I'm writing about the color of a young girl's skin and those petals are absolutely IT. Or the green I see in a young tree's leaves is the green I use to describe the hero's eyes.
But it's not just colors I observe - it's mannerisms, it's speech inflections, it's phrases, comments, jokes and words. I observe the way two people interact with each other, and I contemplate and watch one person observing another and their reaction (or lack thereof).
I was getting my hair trimmed a couple of weeks ago and my hairdresser told me about a friend of hers she knew back in Russia long before my hairdresser moved to the US. The four words that she told me this other woman said to a cab driver grabbed me, and I realized that those four words belonged in the interaction between my heroine and her future lover in the novel I am writing. But not only did those words find a spot within my writing, I created an entire separate character around those four words. For some reason, she's a fiery redhead with porcelain skin, and eyes the size of saucers. She is not the heroine in the story; instead, she is an antagonist. While my hairdresser relayed details of that evening so many years ago, a new character was created - one who I never knew would exist until that moment.
And that, dear friends, brings me to Dunkin' Donuts. Why, you ask? I have no idea. But it's my blog and I'll traverse the random thoughts of my mind and throw it down on paper (or computer) however I like.
I go to Dunkin' Donuts 3-4 times per week for a small iced coffee, with cream and just a smidge of sugar. It's my only treat. And I don't sip it through the straw - I slurp it right from the rim and occasionally grab an ice cube between my lips and crunch it up in sheer icy enjoyment.
There is a young girl who works there, possibly around 20-22 years old. She's been there for over a year now. She is petite, pale and quiet. Her mousy hair is pulled back under a cap and she avoids eye contact. Her arm has a long scar on it and her attempts at trying to hide it tell me she did it to herself.
Despite her quiet demeanor, she works confidently, knows the job well, and treats the customers with respect. She is a hard worker and is loyal. I know this because she is always there and they can count on her.
Being a person who loves interacting with others and creating my own stories around those interactions, I always smile at the girl and ask how she is today. She rarely smiles back, but shyly and briefly makes eye contact with me and says that she is "good."
I created a bit of my own story around this girl whose name I do not know, but who I have given the name, Bree.
About a month ago, I walked into Dunkin' Donuts to get my usual. In fact, most of the employees already know, when they see me, what I'm there for. They smile and call it out before one of their co-workers can, and I giggle and nod my head as I approach the counter.
Bree was on the register and, as I took the iced coffee from Krishna, and set it down on the counter to pull out my money, Bree spoke. "I really like your earrings," she said. A jolt of adrenalin shot through my body and I kept my eyes lowered for a second before meeting her eyes and said, "I beg your pardon?" "I really like your earrings." She smiled back at me.
I raised my fingertips to my earlobes and realized what I was wearing. "Well, thank you. I get so many compliments on these earrings. My sister-in-law, Janet, made them for me for Christmas this past year. Aren't they fabulous?" She nodded in quiet agreement.
I left that day and went home to email Janet a request for another pair of those earrings for Bree. Next time I'm in New York and see Janet, I know they'll be ready and I'll hardly be able to contain my excitement until I get back home to race up to Dunkin' Donuts and give them to Bree.
We hear that a smile is contagious. We read those email requests to smile at one person - just one today - because you may change a life. I don't know Bree's story, but the one I have created in my mind is a difficult one; one that has taken several turns, and has had many ups and downs.
I may never know anymore about Bree, and she may never know me anymore than being the woman who looks intently into those eyes and asks her how she is today. When I give her the earrings, she may just put them in a drawer. She may be too shy to wear them. Or, she may take them out many times, turn them in her hands, and put them back again. But maybe one Friday evening, she'll put them on and go out, feeling beautiful - just like I do when I wear mine. And I hope when she does, she'll know she is special and is worth feeling beautiful.
