Call Me Charlie

Issue 311

You guys,

I’ve been paying attention to the God-like appearance of signs and serendipity. The things that happen when you’re in the exact right spot at the exact right moment.

At the grocery store I prefer self-checkout. I like to have control of the bagging process. But as we were nearing the individual kiosks George said, “Can we do regular?” He preferred to put the groceries on the black conveyor belt and stand transfixed as he watched them roll away.

There was a woman turning into the lane in front of us, pushing a cart similar to mine—one of the green kids carts that looked like a car and had two steering wheels so the kids could pretend they were driving. A little girl sat in the front with the steering wheels, and a little boy sat in the cart. The little girl turned in her seat and stared at George and Layla. I could not see their faces but their heads were still, the three of them having their own little staring contest. The girl finally looked at me, and I smiled and waved. She hid her head below the top of the cart, and I mimicked her, so that when she looked again we were both popping up, as if to surprise each other. She smiled.

The mom had been organizing the groceries and noticed what was happening. She smiled but didn’t say anything. She was not searching my eyes, she was not trying to make conversation, but I felt compelled to talk to her.

“How old are yours?” I asked.

“He’s five and a half and she’s about to turn four,” she said as she moved her groceries onto the belt and put the divider in the back so I could start unloading mine.

“Oh,” I said, turning to point at George and Layla. “He’s five and a half and she just turned four.”

We looked at each other then, an immediate sense that we were in this parenting thing together.

“I feel like it’s gotten so good lately,” I said.

“I know!” she said. “So good that my husband and I were like, ‘Should we have another?’”

She moved forward as the last of her groceries were scanned.

“Well I hope she has a great birthday!” I said, feeling the moment coming to an end, feeling pulled to make it last a little longer. “Are you doing anything to celebrate?”

“Well we just moved here so we’re closing on our house.”

“Oh,” I said, “we’re moving away, and we’re selling our house. We’re under contract right now.”

The woman stopped as she pulled out her credit card. “Weird,” she said.

“Where are you guys moving from?” I asked.

“We’ve been on a sailboat for the past four years.”

My mouth dropped open. “What? That is so cool.” I looked at her kids again. They spent the first years of their life traveling on a boat. It was all they knew.

“And where are you moving to?” she asked.

“We’re going to travel the world,” I said, and now we really looked at each other, mirroring surprised expressions. We were holding up the line.

“I should get your number,” she said, pulling out her phone. “We should get together before you leave. What’s your name?”

“Charlie,” I said.

She lowered her phone. “Stop,” she said. “This is too weird. My name is Charlie.”

As we parted ways, she said, “I feel like this was meant to be.”

She seemed a little bit shocked about the whole exchange, the uncanny similarities, but I had felt the pull towards her as soon as we stood behind her in line. I don’t usually make conversation with people. I’m more of a head-down, get-out-of-my-way, New Yorker vibe. But it was like the frequency changed as I got closer to her. There was nothing else around us or in my head except our connection with each other. I feel this sometimes with people. A desire to be in their orbit. I’m pulled to them, present with them. So in tune with them that I ignore everything else around me. I want to tell them things. I want them to tell me things. It feels like a mutual, reciprocated almost-desperation to know them more and for them to know me.

Sometimes at the dinner table, we go around and each say our three favorite things of the day. George often starts with, “This right now,” and he gestures to us all sitting at the table having dinner together, saying our three favorite things. It’s adorable, and I immediately think, well one of my three favorite things better be family related, and is there something I can say about Sam? But on this day, my favorite thing—the clear winner—had been an interaction with a stranger. I felt myself come alive, still tingling as I ran the cart through the parking lot, the kids screaming with glee. I have no idea what will come of our coffee date this week. Is she really a new friend? Or a way for our husbands to meet? Is this more about our kids? Will the conversation steer towards alternative education? I don’t know why we met. But I know we met for a reason.

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Until next week,

Charlie