EXIT DATE

As a child, Hartley was born with imperfect teeth, a dental condition called Dentinogenesis imperfecta which resulted in a lack of enamel and was reflected in a smile of yellowed, chipped teeth. Hartley rarely smiled because when she did, she felt the judging glare of her classmates. Sometimes kids would yell out “Hartley, why are your teeth so yellow? Don’t you brush them?!” At first, it hurt her feelings to hear those comments, so she would shy away on the playground and become a recluse. But then she learned better. She became accustomed to pulling away from her classmates at recess. She sat on a swing, went quietly inside her own skin, and became still, resulting in a beautiful gift that allowed her immunity from ridicule as a child and served her all the days of her life. The gift? She became an astute observer.

Astute observers often become astute listeners, moreover, they often become writers. Hartley always loved words, even when she could not easily speak them. When she did not want to be vulnerable and share her voice in speaking aloud thereby having her “ugly” teeth make an appearance, she wrote instead. Even as an adult when cosmetic changes brought a beautiful smile, she still gravitated to the written word versus the spoken one. Hence, over a lifetime the words became stories. Some of Hartley’s words gathered and were published in short stories, editorials, or writing for pay as a copywriter. Hartley also honed her observer skills by seeing the “big picture” of things. She saw connections in life other people could not or maybe did not want to see? At midlife, she started to ask herself how she could share what she knew to be true. She wanted her writing to be helpful to humanity. She wanted her experiences in life to mean something in the grand scheme of things. She began to write about those universal connections she saw in the world. At 40 years old, when COVID-19 hit the country, her day job was terminated. Two years post the pandemic, she was still squeaking out a living with odd jobs, but amidst the financial worries, she was rather enjoying her new-found time to concentrate on her own personal writing. She started to write a movie script called “The Grand Picture.” The opening scene in the script went as follows...

Voice of narrator with accompanying visuals:

“How does a simple gesture of not returning a shopping cart to a corral in a parking lot impact the life of many people? It starts with a secretary on her way to work who stopped at the store for groceries. She has just placed groceries in her car when some wind has caught the wheels of a discarded, unattended cart heading toward her. She leaps forward to catch the cart before it hits her car and, in the process, she stumbles and breaks her foot. She has to go to the hospital for a cast which makes her unable to go to work and finish a report for her boss who needs it for a meeting in the afternoon. Her boss’s position is teetering and shaky anyways and so when he doesn’t show up with his report – he gets fired. To be 50 and unemployed brings up many unresolved issues for him in finding his passion and doing what he loves or finding a job that will pay the bills and make his wife happy…did the shopping cart incident create a jump start to a quest he might have only explored if the status quo was challenged? Or what would have happened if the shopping cart had been placed back in its corral properly, would he still be going through these life challenges?”

As Hartley started to develop her script, she began frequenting “The Elixir Café,” a coffee shop nearby. She’d wear comfy jeans, tie her long brown hair up in a bun, bring her laptop, notepad, pen and hash out the details as she sipped on strong (two bagger) cups of tea or sometimes a cup of chai. She was single and lived alone so it was not a problem to work at home – her only interruptions were her own thoughts about chores that needed to be done, or her little dog named Sugar barking to go out periodically. But there was something about leaving home and making the coffee shop her “work domain” to keep her on task. “If I devote three hours a day to my script,” she thought, “then maybe I will feel like I am moving forward with my dream.”

The table she liked to sit at was often available and offered some privacy the way the shop was laid out. There was one other table within her view where an older, silver-haired gentleman who frequently wore brown herringbone suits, often was seated. He seemed to have his own project going. He did not have a laptop, but paper, pen and a little black book was at his side each afternoon she saw him there. They seemed to be on the same schedule. On several occasions, she saw younger people around college age come into the shop and sit with him. He always extended his arm to shake their hand or greeted them with a hug, and then bought them a coffee or tea. She could hear parts of their exchanges from where she was sitting. One young man talked about his struggles with succeeding in college; another young woman talked about wanting to leave home because her parents were always fighting; another young lad was unhappy with his job. The older man would listen intently and follow up with some wisdom to try and calm their anxiety, upon which their facial expressions would lighten up and they would often nod in agreement.

Hartley was trying to work on her “Grand Picture” script, but she could not stop listening to these conversations happening in that corner booth. “That counselor or mentor or whoever… is speaking my language,” she thought to herself. She could tell the man was well-read and spoke with the most heartfelt intentions. She took her note pad and started to jot down some of the phrases the man used to counsel. They included:

“I believe you are exactly where you are supposed to be.”

“Find a way to trust your journey.”

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”

“It might be helpful to look at your situation from another point of view.”

“There are only two emotions: Love and fear. Love is the only one that’s real.”

Hartley looked at a few of the phrases and felt they would totally be part of a counselor’s vocabulary, yet he seemed more grandfatherly. Her guess was this was not a paid position. He definitely had a wise countenance. There was a knowing smile behind the smile if one could imagine.

The day their eyes met for the first time told her this man held a depth of wisdom like no other person she'd ever met. She had been coming to the coffee shop for several weeks and seeing him there at the same time regularly. One day, as she sat at her table, she turned a little sharply and accidently knocked her coffee cup and a few notepapers onto the floor. She grabbed a napkin, bent down and was picking up her papers while wiping the floor when the next thing she saw was a man’s wing-tipped shoes at eye level. She quickly stood up and met the man she had nicknamed the “Mentor of Elixir Café.”

The man held a cup of tea in his hand for her and said, “Hi, I thought you could use a fresh cup of tea.”

Awkwardly, Hartley reached out for the tea and said, “Oh, thank you. A little clumsy I was,” as she motioned to the puddle on the floor. As she took this man’s energy in, she felt vulnerable and a bit speechless, knowing full well that those moments in her life where she had no words ironically became the future voice in her writing.

“It happens to all of us at some point, being clumsy, I mean … by the way, my name is Aman. Aman Ryder. We seem to frequent this establishment at the same time quite often.”

“Yes. Yes, we do…I’ve noticed you, ah…that as well. Oh, and…my name is Hartley James.”

After looking at the table and making sure she had wiped it clean, she invited Aman to sit down and join her. Aman was glad she had looked away in that moment for when he heard her name, it startled him.

“Yes, I’d love to,” Aman replied.

Upon sitting, Aman regained his composure and continued the conversation. “So, I am guessing here…are you a writer? Given that you bring a laptop and I see you constantly writing notes.”

“Yes, I am or trying to be anyways. I am working on writing a movie script presently. I have never written a script before, so we’ll see. I’ve only been working part time since the time of the pandemic so I’ve been concentrating…seeing if I can continue to make a living through my passion for writing. I recently took an online course on writing screenplays. That’s very perceptive of you to make that guess about me being a writer! My guess for you is that you are some kind of counselor? Given I see you write notes from time to time in your little black book and you meet with youth and appear to be counseling them? That would be my guess. And…” She paused, then added, “But…I don’t think you are ‘paid’ to counsel or mentor. That you do this not for a living, but because you enjoy helping others.” “No, I am not a ‘paid’ counselor, but I do enjoy trying to mentor those who need help or support. I am a retired Doctor – a retired OB/GYN to be specific. I have known those young men and women you’ve seen me with since their birth, for I was the doctor that delivered them,” Aman said matter-of-factly.

Hartley was a bit stunned, and then spoke, “Wow, I have never heard of a doctor … keeping tabs, if you will, and staying connected to the babies they’ve delivered for this length of time,” she said shaking her head with astonishment. “That’s pretty amazing. I am guessing those young men and women are in their early 20’s or so…would that be correct? And, they are not related to you by blood or in any other way other than you were their mother’s doctor and you delivered them twenty-some years ago?”

“Yes, that’s right, I was just their mother’s doctor. They are not related to me by blood,” Aman shared.

Hartley sensed and noted Aman was purposely leaving out some details that led her to other questions but decided not to ask them in this first introduction. Instead, she shifted to commenting about the “wisdom” she heard him impart when those now grown-up “babies” came to visit him at the coffee shop.

“You know, our respective tables here at the coffee shop aren’t too far away from each other and I heard some of the conversations you were having…sorry I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just couldn’t help hearing some of the exchanges,” Hartley said apologetically. She then added, “If I remember my authors well enough here, I would say you were quoting Soren Kierkegaard, the Dalai Lama, Jesus, Paramahansa Yogananda, Richard Bach, Ralph Waldo Emerson and even a little Neale Donald Walsh among others, if I’m not mistaken.”

Aman chuckled, then added, “Hey, you are an active listener and spot on with your guesses. Ever think of trying out for Jeopardy?”

“How do you know I haven’t already tried out or been on the show?” she laughed and quipped back kiddingly. Then added, “But seriously…I see you trying to provide insight to these young people and it’s quite beautiful to observe. How many of us have gone through life especially as a child and not had an adult or grown-up around us to impart truth and life skills that could actually help us choose or change our trajectory in the world!?”

“It sounds like you had a mentor or two growing up?” Aman asked.

“Not as a child so much. I mean I had loving parents, but I mainly relied on my experiences and made sense out of them as best I could. I tried to move forward with some courage, and maybe learned some compassion along the way too. I did meet a couple of professors in college who rocked my world view. Pushed me out of being just an observer in life and helped me to see that I always had a choice about how I viewed my world. Like, you know – what was I actually observing? I always had a choice about what I put my attention on. I’m hoping this script I am currently writing will incorporate that take-away.”

“Sounds very interesting,” Aman acknowledged, and then added, “I would love to read it when you’re finished.”

Hartley thanked him and said, “Sure, I would love to share it and get your feedback.”

Just at that moment, a young man entered the coffee shop and caught the eye of Aman. Aman winked at Hartley and said “I see one of my ’babies‘ is looking for me. Let’s continue our conversation later? If that works for you?” Hartley nodded yes, as he stood up to walk back to his table and greet the young man.

Again, Hartley watched Aman talk with the young man at his table. A lyric from a song playing on the overhead speaker caught her ear: …"I think of what the world could be, the vision of the one I see "… She noted the song was from the musical “The Greatest Showman.” Hartley suddenly felt a little tender-hearted and emotional in a good way. She felt a strong connection with Aman; not as in a dating interest. This older soul seemed to have at least 35 more years of experience than she, and had come into her life to show her something and bring about an “opening moment.” A moment that was going to change her; she just did not know how quite yet. When she thought back to all the times in her life that brought tremendous change, even if those experiences felt uncomfortable or bittersweet, she still felt destined to live them out. Like when she took care of her parents in their last chapters, no one could share with her what that experience would feel like before it happened. No one’s advice preempted her decision to do so either. She would find out only by living that holy, sacred, and tremendously difficult path for nine and a half years. And, when that chapter was over, there were no regrets. She also thought about gut-wrenching break-ups with past boyfriends, and how those experiences resulted in her becoming stronger and wiser as a person. As Hartley continued to review her life’s history in her mind, Aman walked back to her table and interrupted her reverie.

“Hartley, I know this is late notice … but, I am hosting a small gathering here tomorrow at 7pm. There’s a little meeting room in the back with enough room for a dozen people or so. I am going to bring those nine young men and women together that I’ve been meeting with all these years. They have never met each other, and I think they would benefit in knowing each other. I am going to do a little speech and then have introductions. Anyways, would you like to come and be an ’official observer‘ for this meeting?” he said chuckling on his last sentence.

“Sure, sounds good,” Hartley said with a smile. “I’d be happy to be the ’official observer‘ as you request. See you tomorrow at 7 then,” she added.

The next day, she arrived at 7 pm. It was later than she had ever been to the coffee shop, but the lights were on in the meeting room and she counted nine people hanging out in front with Aman. There was a little sign-in sheet at the door asking for contact info. She wrote her name and address and then looked up. She saw him give her a nod as she took a seat in the back. Aman then motioned for the rest of the group to take their seats and he began his talk.

“I am so grateful you all came today,” Aman began. He then welcomed them while looking at each person in recognition pausing in between announcing their names. “Welcome… Bonnie, Jeff, Sandy, Joseph, Michelle, Jean, David, Preston, William and Hartley. With the exception of Hartley, I have been seeing you all on a regular basis since your date of birth. It really has been an honor and privilege to watch you grow as children into adults. To know your stories, your dreams, your fears and the obstacles that sometimes made you weary. You have helped me to understand you and experience my life in ways I would not have if we had not met. I hope I am not the first person in your life to acknowledge your influence, your kindness, your heart…if I am the first, hopefully I will not be the last. Without getting into all the personal particulars of your stories, let me just say within this room there were circumstances you all lived through that would have slayed many adults. Over the years I have been your friend and champion…and always advised you to be a force for good, no matter what your trials. And, no matter what your future holds…what profession you take on or whether you decide to marry or not or have children or not – any of these decisions or roles asks you to bring the best of yourself to the table. You can have influence. You can make a great meal for someone and help them stay healthy or could keep them alive for that matter. If someone you know is in profound emotional pain, you can look them in the eye and cry with them or hold their hand in understanding.”

Aman then paused for a moment, and when he began speaking again, his words contained a passion and resoluteness that could not be mistaken.

“I am asking you as you all move forward in your lives…to embody empathy. To make being empathetic the most profound part of your nature so that it will be the first thing someone mirrors back to you. Then you get to be a recipient of it as well. I have always truly believed and still do, when you can see the best in someone and affirm that in them, you are modeling to them how to do it for themselves. Learning how to love yourself and loving others is the fundamental human experience that results in nothing less than joy! No matter how much time you have on the planet whether it’s a specific time allotted or not. It is within my scientific knowing, and what an astrologer might coin as the term ’outwitting the stars‘ that when love is the predominant intention in your life that you can literally add days to your life and to those whom you love.”

Hartley listened to Aman intently. As she watched the young crowd smile, tear up, and engaged in each word he spoke, she wished she had known this man all her life like they had. In that moment, she became aware that she had placed her hand on her heart earlier in his talk. She let her hand remain there, as he continued.

“With the exception of Hartley, with whom I have just recently connected with, you were all born in the same year. I have never brought you all together till now. It occurred to me in coming to know each of you that you have many similar experiences you could share with each other. The person next to you may have been dreaming of meeting you. Another person may need to hear your story to get out of a rut. Another person may become your best friend for your lifetime. Someone else may need your advice that will save them from future suffering. Someone may be in this room right now that you might become business partners with or even a dance partner. Another may bring conversation and comfort. The potentials are endless." With that final sharing, Aman paused...then added, "To celebrate our gathering here tonight...there are some almond cookies, chocolate brownies, and apple pie at the back table. I am suggesting while you enjoy your coffee or chai and slice of pie that you introduce yourselves to each other. There is also another table near the desserts which holds some gifts for you all – a book or a movie I picked out especially for you and then maybe if you all decide to meet again you can share your thoughts about it with some new friend you meet here today.”

Hartley walked over to the table where the others were opening their gifts. She saw the covers of books, some which were familiar, some not. Hartley picked up the gift with her name. It was a different size box than all the others. In it was a black Uniball Vision Elite pen with a micro-point, a favorite brand of pen used by former President Obama to sign important legislation; a pen she had been meaning to buy and try out. She held the pen in her hand while feeling her eyes well up a bit.

She watched Aman mingle among the group, while greeted by smiles, and sharing laughter, he made his way over to her. “Thank you for coming this evening,” he said to Hartley.

“No, it is I who thank you for asking me to be here. Such a wonderful gathering to observe,” she responded.

“I want you to know that you are more than an observer. You are a part of it too in your own way,” Aman quickly quipped back.

Hartley was not sure what that exactly meant yet. But she responded, “More material, I am sure, to inspire me in my writing. Thank you also for the beautiful 'presidential' pen! I love the feel of this pen. It is obvious you have watched me write notes in long hand before I get to the laptop stage.”

“I’m glad you are here and you like your gift. My feeling is you have important things to share with the world. I hope that I have or can be influential in that way, for you have certainly inspired me,” Aman told her.

Before she had a chance to respond, one of the group, David, tapped Aman on the shoulder. It was obvious to Hartley that David wanted Aman’s individual attention, so she stepped back from the two of them.

As time went by, she watched Aman get pulled into other conversations with the group. At one point she gave a little wave and mouthed the words, “I’ll see you at the shop next week.” Aman waved back and Hartley left for home. Little did she know that would be the last time she saw him.

Every day for the next two weeks she did her usual stint at the coffee shop to write, but more importantly to see Aman. But he did not show. She hoped she had not said or did anything to offend him. “What if something happened to him? How would I know?” She pondered. “I never got an address, a phone number, an email.” The day she left the coffee shop early for home was the day she got her answer.

Sugar barked as the mail lady came to her door and Hartley had to sign for a certified package from a law firm. She brought the package to her kitchen table and opened it carefully. There was a letter inside the package along with another envelope to be opened.

The first letter was from Bradley, Vance, & Shanks, a law firm in a nearby town.

The letter stated:

“Dear Ms. James,

It is with our deepest sympathies we regret to inform you that your friend Aman Ryder has passed. Within his last will and testament, he has bestowed a couple of gifts to you. One is a monetary gift. The other is a little black book Mr. Ryder wanted you to have. He has also written you a letter attached therein along with other documents he explains.

If you have questions about the documents enclosed, please give our firm a call.

Regards,

Benjamin Bradley

The law firm of Bradley, Vance, & Shanks”

Hartley reread the letter aloud to herself and tears streamed down her face in sorrow and disbelief. She brought Sugar into her lap and hugged her as she opened the second envelope inside the first. She pulled out a letter with a check attached by paperclip and as her hand grasped a thickness in the package and she pulled it into the light, she recognized the little black book that Aman had next to him daily at the coffee shop. Hartley took a breath as she shook her head in disbelief. “So many questions I never got to ask him,” she thought to herself. Her hand was shaking as she put the letter front and center. “Oh my God,” she thought. The amount on the check was for $20,000!

“For me? What did I do? Who am I to receive such a large amount of money from someone I just met recently?” she spoke out aloud to herself. She unclipped the check from the letter and began reading Aman’s personal letter to her.

“Dear Hartley,

Such a difficult task to write a letter to you knowing that you will be reading this upon my departure from this world. Grateful that the universe made sure we connected before I left even if it was for just a short time. I will try and make sense of some of the questions you may have and probably wondered about in the time we did share.

My little black book is an archived history of the children, ‘the babies,’ I was honored to help deliver into the world. Since the time I started my practice 49 years ago, on average I delivered about 200 babies a year. When I was 38 years old, I had an experience in the delivery room that altered my life and made me question what our ‘time on earth’ meant. Let me explain.

When a doctor cuts the umbilical cord between baby and mother, there is a particular measurement a doctor learns in medical school, suggested for where the cut should occur. I followed that protocol for the first nine years of my practice, until the day my hand clumsily slipped and cut the cord a few inches closer to the baby than usually prescribed. When it happened, I grabbed the cord as usual, but this time I noticed something right under the cord above where my thumb held the tip. As unbelievable as this may sound, there was a date printed with the word ’EXIT‘ before it. With that particular baby it read ’EXIT 1988.’ When this happened to me in the operating room, I never shared what I’d seen with anyone. I wasn’t sure what it meant or if it was only for my eyes to see, and I certainly didn’t want to share it with my colleagues who might have thought me crazy! I had so many questions.

But when that happened, I started to follow that measuring ritual with all the babies I delivered, and sure enough, I started to see EXIT DATES with every single one. As for that first baby, I easily stayed connected with the family because they had more children and I was their doctor. When 1988 came, that first baby I delivered where I had seen the date, passed due to pneumonia. The passing of that little girl in the year documented on her cord was a sign to me that altered my way of being in the world like no other experience I’ve ever had. I kept documenting those dates I undeniably found when delivering babies. Later, I discovered when short time spans were indicated on the cord, those children did indeed pass.

I have never shared what I found with anyone until writing this letter to you. As you can imagine, having this experience made me question our time on earth and whether anything could alter its course. After this incident, a little further into my career, I began my experiment. About 20 years ago, I selected 18 babies from the roster of that year whom had short lifetimes indicated on their EXIT DATES. I stayed in touch with all 18 families, but I decided to truly connect with only nine of those children and attempt to help them in ways that may alter their time on the planet, hoping my encouragement and love would help extend the time indicated on their cords. I am not saying my involvement was the only deciding factor of whether they lived longer or not. But I wanted to see if those offerings would make a difference. Of course, I cannot ultimately answer that question, however, you should know that seven of the nine children I did not develop a strong connection with have passed away. The children I had established relationships with are now adults, all of whom you met at the café. They are doing well and still living. They surpassed their personal EXIT DATES as indicated on their cords.

We all want to make a difference, right Hartley? I hope I made a difference in their lives. I did not have children of my own. This goal for making a difference in a truly life-giving fundamental way was my quest in life. Being a doctor was my vehicle. Those were ‘my babies’ so to speak. Your stories, your scripts are ‘your babies’ in a sense. I am sharing all of this with you so that perhaps my story can become part of your writing, maybe even part of the script you are currently writing? You know I observed you, too, Hartley. You shared how you want to bring your heart to the world through your writing. May my story, and now your story, eventually become our story…through your words. I included the check for $20,000, to mind your bills, so that you could more easily write our script.

One more thing Hartley: When you first introduced yourself to me and spoke your name, I remembered it. After hearing your name, I looked in my book to be sure. I had never delivered anyone by the name of Hartley before you and never did after. Your name is different. Unforgettable. Before you flutter through the pages to find your EXIT DATE, just know that you will be living long past it – for you are living your best life. I know this because you brought joy to mine.

Light and Love,

Aman Ryder”

Hartley wept as she reread Aman’s letter again. In the second read through, the last paragraph finally registered in her brain. Aman was her mother’s doctor. He had delivered her. She picked up the little black book and started to flip through and found her birthdate and name, but in the column that would indicate her EXIT DATE there was only a thick dark line running through it. Hartley held the page up to the light but nothing came through the black magic marker that Aman had used to totally block it from her view.

Hartley gasped. When she finally exhaled, her irregular breaths came through short, uncontrollable crying sounds, much like a newborn. She consciously placed her hand on her heart and as she did, she thought of Aman. As she pictured him in her mind, it triggered a memory of him as Dr. Ryder "delivering her" so long ago. The memory served to calm her and eventually she was able to manage breathing on her own…again.