MorristownMemos

MY THREE HOUR BEST FRIEND

We were sitting in an opthalmologist’s office. We didn’t know each other; had never

seen each other before. She didn’t remind me of anyone I knew and didn’t even look

familiar. She probably didn’t shop at the same stores I shopped in, and didn’t send

her children to the same schools I did. This woman was a stranger.

She caught my eye and smiled. When I smiled back she said,

“An appointment at this office always means the sacrifice of half a day.”

“What’s the point of going through the pretense of making an appointment if they

never honor time?” I commiserated.

I wasn’t expecting to be chatting with a stranger in the waiting room. I preferred

discussing “real” issues that I cared about rather than having mindless, small talk. I

was happy to be left alone, look at my cell phone and catch up with the day’s

messages.

 

But my neighbor-in-waiting had other ideas about how to spend time while she

waited for her eyesight to be checked, examined and improved. Her idea was to tell

me her secrets. It must have been a cathartic experience for her, because she

launched right into some forbidden topics that can be told only to a total stranger.

One who doesn’t know you, who your friends are or who your family is. And

Someone you will never see again.

 

I fit that description perfectly.

Within a very short time she was describing her illicit affairs, the stresses therein

and the naughty, guilty escapes she seeks wherever she can. And what was my

reaction to these confessions?

 

Were they interesting? Did I care? Did I want her to continue? Was I drawn into her

story? Oh, yes I was!

 

She had the story teller’s natural gift of keeping her listeners spellbound and

fascinated. Nothing stopped her from talking, describing intimate details and

intriguing me in her compelling tone. I had no desire to tune out or interrupt her

secret tales.

 

Then, too soon, it was time to be seen. The nurse came into the waiting room, called

her name, and into the doctor’s office she followed. She abandoned me just at the

good part, leaving me to fill in the blanks. Soon thereafter my name was called and I

was led into a different examining room. And so, my exciting soap opera story teller

disappeared from my life as quickly as she had appeared.

I have heard that people sometimes feel safer and more comfortable telling their

most intimate secrets to total strangers than to a trusted friend. Perhaps you’ve

never had the experience of expressing your soul, your “authentic self” or revealed

your secrets to someone you didn’t know.

 

But I did.

 

It happened on a flight to Florida. I was traveling alone. At that time my life seemed

to be unfurling around me, and I felt unsettled and isolated. Assumptions I always

held to be true proved not to be true after all. People I once trusted turned out to be

untrustworthy. My foundations were crumbling, all was lost, and I was in a state of

despair.

 

The gentleman seated to my right must have picked up some of my agitated “vibes,”

because he gently started a conversation. Before I knew what I was saying I told him

my whole sad, troubled story. We spoke for the three hours it took to arrive at our

destination, from take-off to landing. He listened and responded by offering me

advice based on his own experience in a similar situation.

 

Although we exchanged secrets, there is one thing we never did exchange: our

names. I have no idea who he was and he doesn’t know me. But Mr. Anonymous

Traveler helped me that day more than anyone else in my real world could have.

 

I think of that time once in a while, and that kind, sensitive man. I hope that his life

came together as successfully as mine did.