Being a man, being a woman, being a human being--it all hangs on such fragile architecture.~ Deb Caletti (From He's Gone)

I was very young and didn't know what I was doing. I was twenty, but even then, I knew something of sorrow. Knew when someone needed the weight, the circumference of mercy. The young woman in my college sorority came into our world of parties and protocols looking just as we all wanted our new pledges to look.  Creamy, flawless skin and luxuriant, sleek dark hair. Blue eyes. There was a certain wildness there too that was magnetizing. When these attributes became integrated with all the things one doesn't talk about in polite company, though we know that these unspeakables are all part of the scene in sororities--drugs, sex and alcohol--she became unhinged. Alicia (not her real name) was asked to leave the sorority. It was horrible.

One night before she left, I walked down the hallway past her room. I almost didn't stop, but when I put my ear to her door, I could hear muffled sobbing. I knocked. A timid tapping. The crying continued. I pounded then and said out loud, "Alicia, can I come in?" She didn't respond, but the sobbing increased. I placed my hand on the doorknob. I can still almost feel the imprint of that knob on my palm as I let myself in and shut the door behind me. Alicia was stretched out on her bed, the room dark except for a line of light from the hallway at the bottom of the door. I walked toward the bed and whispered her name. "Alicia." I didn't know what to say. I only knew that she must feel shame about what happened. And then treated so poorly by the sorority. She didn't deserve to be kicked out. Her only "sin" being that her behaviors became public. Probably every other woman in the sorority had similar issues (including myself), but we'd managed to keep them secret.

I'm not a demonstrative person toward people I don't know well. But that night, I sat down on Alicia's bed, so near to her I could feel the warmth of her body. She continued to cry, but not as loud, her face still buried in the pillow. I crooked my index finger at the base of her head and swept the matted hair away from her neck. I said, "I hardly know you, Alicia, but I know you're a good person. I'm sorry about what's happened. But don't give up. This incident is only a blip in your life. You've got so much of life ahead. You're beautiful and smart and funny. Don't let this sorority steal your identity. Let it go. Shrug it off and go live your good life." Alicia didn't say a word, but she stopped crying. Her breathing slowed. I laid my palm on her back and said, "You'll be okay. You'll be okay." 

She never turned over to look at me. But then we couldn't have seen each other anyway because the room was so dark. I never saw her again. 

I'd forgotten about Alicia until this week. I was in line at a store and the cashier asked if I was "eligible" for the discount. A nice way of aksing if one is old enough for the senior mark down. I said, "Yes, I'm sixty-five so that should meet the criteria." A young man, maybe thirty-five or forty, who heard what I'd said blurted out, "You look great for sixty-five." There was something spontaneous about his reaction. I turned around. "Sorry," he said, "Didn't mean to offend you." I said, "On the contrary, I am grateful for your comment. Sometimes it's merciful to see oneself as others do."