Stranger WORDS

The subway exhales as cars whizz past the platform. The tracks squeal and groan, protesting the relentless jostling and never-ending exchange of lustless bodies; like an unhappy digestive system preparing to purge itself of poison. The souls burdened by the responsibilities of their flesh, pay one another the same regard as inanimate objects.

It’s amazing how the smallest things often play the most important roles in keeping us safe and on the right track. Jessie ponders this as he imagines the cold, lightless working life of the fasteners and cross ties below him.

What Jessie does not care to admit is that he has a lot in common with the equipment he takes the time to admire this morning.

To know and understand Jessie is a unique challenge. You see, Jessie fits the cliche of the “lone wolf”, although he much prefers the heroic connotations of “fiercely independent". He is a workaholic; being productive is effective at keeping his thoughts and memories at bay. His exterior is reinforced by his extensive collection of scars. Early life forced him to adopt armour in order to protect the hopelessly sensitive child within.

He is on his daily commute to the correctional facility where he works.

Many would say that he was destined for this type of work.

At age five, after witnessing his pain mirrored back to him in the eyes of a man on trial for a motor vehicle collision, the one which took the life of his mother, he was forever attuned to human suffering. While most fill the void of lost love with hate, Jesse never could. His obsession with forgiveness protected him while he watched his guilt-ridden, ex-cop of a father dive into alcohol with weighted shoes to drown the pain. The void in Jesse’s heart still remained unfilled and as a clinical psychologist, this might explain his ease in letting people take refuge there.

Jessie had always considered his oldest and dearest friends to be words. Learning new words made him feel like a wizard, able to cast spells on the world around him. In grade 4, he was the first student to be suspended for writing a book report on the the english dictionary.

Each night before he was able to sleep, he would spend hours journaling the details of his day. He loved documenting his adventures, since he was more acutely aware than most, that each passing day could be his last. While his father was not a fan of his son’s growing bookshelf of “diaries,” Jessie kept them safe and still had them tucked away in his apartment.

He never expected to break this habit.

During one of his placements for school, while working in palliative care and providing comfort to those who faced their own mortality, he changed.

He was particularly moved by one woman who was in her mid-twenties and “too young to be terminally ill”. They had only spent half an hour talking, before he returned the next day to learn that she had passed. Much to everyone’s surprise, she had left a thick envelope addressed to Jessie on her side table. Feeling underserving of this effort on behalf of a dying woman, he accepted the letter but did not open it until he was alone.

The envelope contained her story: from her greatest achievements to her most devastating regrets. He read it over and over, crying and laughing at the same parts each time. She explained that since he cared and she had no one else to share her legacy with, she hoped a part of her could live on through him.

“We might be incapable of speaking some words, but it is a tragedy to allow them to pass unshared.”

From that day on, Jessie started writing his story in the format of love letters to strangers.

He decided his lessons and epiphanies would be more valuable if others could gain something from them, just as he had from this woman’s letter. If nothing else, he figured it would be a way to give her the legacy she never thought she would have.

In Jessie’s rather ironic sense of humour, he chose a little black book in which to write these love letters to strangers. He was far from any stereotypical bachelor, and had fully embraced his non-existent love life. He found humour in the fact that some of his most intimate and personal expressions would be through an anonymous letter, to which he would never receive a response.

When he first started writing letters, he would gather all of the words he wished he had heard from someone else at pivotal moments in his life. When he finished each letter he would carefully rip it out of his book, fold it in an origami envelope and write, “For you” on the outside. He would hide these letters in random and unexpected spots, hoping that the someone who needed to hear those words would find it. He hid them inside "get well soon" cards, underneath boxes of chocolates or ice cream containers (proven sources of comfort), in library books, on subway seats or anywhere else that spoke to him.

Whenever he had a spare moment, such as on a quiet subway ride, he found himself getting lost in the potential of his blank pages.

Today was one of those days.

As he put his pencil to paper, the graphite swished along with the tempo of the subway car, his heart beating in time with the squeak of each rotation.

Dear Stranger,

With all the odds stacked against you, and a one in four hundred trillion chance of even being born (forgive my statistical estimate), your existence is truly a gift.

Gold and diamonds are valued because they are so rare, but you are more unique and precious than either of those. There will only be one of you. You deserve to shine.

Please don’t waste your time living someone else’s life…

Jessie was interrupted by the sound of papers flying and his leather-bound file folder hitting the floor. The vibrations of the subway had knocked all of his paperwork loose and had scattered it everywhere. Horrified, he dodged feet and scrambled to pick up all of the pieces. After wrangling the papers and checking to make sure that they were all accounted for, he returned to his seat.

“Oh, crap!”, he muttered audibly, after realizing that he had forgotten one of his client’s files at home.

Looking at his watch he realized that if he got off at the next stop he would still have enough time to go back, get the file and make it to work on time. He grabbed his bag and jumped off as the subway came to a halt.

After winding down from an unpredictable day, Jessie decided to reach into his bag and finish the letter he had started that morning.

It was then that he noticed his little black book was missing.

As the subway doors whooshed open the next morning, Jessie stepped inside and suddenly found his feet stuck to the floor. With his weight shifted to one leg and his head tilted to the side in a confused counter balance, he saw a young man in a tuxedo sitting in his spot.

On his lap sat a black moleskin book softened with use, sharply contrasting the starkness of his unwrinkled black suit, which he was undoubtably wearing for the first time.

The two made eye contact. Jessie sheepishly held out his hand and started to ask, “Is that…”

Before he could finish, the young man was on his feet, presenting him the book with the delicacy of a newborn baby. Jessie, still shocked, thanked the young man with an awkward smile. He returned the smile from behind tear stained eyes. Then, he threw his arms around Jessie in a hug.

As quickly as the subway came to its next stop, the young man was gone. Jessie turned to ask him to wait, but he was too slow in his dumbfounded stupor.

Brows furrowed and head spinning, Jessie sat down and opened the book.

Inside the front cover was an envelope that read, For You.

Jessie’s open-mouthed gasp quickly morphed into a cartoon-like grin, as his childlike level of excitement and anticipation built. He tried to keep his ego in check over the possibility that his efforts had been noticed, while ignoring any more sinister thoughts.

Part of him wanted to wait, but he could not. He carefully opened the origami envelope, identical to the ones he made, and took out the letter.

Dear Stranger,

Please forgive me for taking a page from your book. I could not pass up the opportunity to write you a letter.

I was on the way back from my father’s funeral, hunched over crying when I saw this book lying at my feet. Wiping away my tears, I reached down to pick it up. I looked inside the front cover to see if there was a name, address or phone number that I could return it to.

The last thing I expected was to recognize the handwriting inside. You are the author of the anonymous letter that changed my life.

When I was very young, my father was arrested for driving under the influence and killing a young woman in a car crash. I never gave him a chance to know me, because I was ashamed to have him as a father. I have spent my whole life trying to be as different from him as possible.

Everything changed when I noticed an envelope that read, “For you” tucked inside my library book. Some wonderful stranger had poured their heart out, explaining how they forgave their alcoholic father. Although this stranger never blamed their father, they mustered the strength to verbalize those words of forgiveness only moments before their father passed away.

Forgiving my father never seemed like an option before, but the words you wrote moved me so deeply that I decided that it was worth a shot.

Learning to see past my father as a monster allowed me to release a lot of my hate. Although he was still in prison, I had the chance to speak to him. If it was not for you, I would have let him die without ever knowing him.

I carry your letter with me everywhere. Today, I carry it in my suit pocket next to my heart. Hours ago I told the story of how your letter changed my life at his funeral.

I never thought I would cross paths with you, let alone in a way that would bring me further peace.

I sat in this station all night finding the words I wanted to say to you.

Although I fear I will never be able to repay you, I have left you the inheritance from my father. Money has never been a concern for my family. I hope that you can accept this gesture and put it to good use.

Thank you!!!

Sincerely,

Your Anonymous Friend

Jessie was a weeping mess of a man as he processed how life had come full circle.

Sure enough, looking in the envelope he saw a ridiculous amount of money; easily enough to cover his student debt.

In awe, Jessie thought,

Fate works in mysterious ways. I wonder how many stranger words have gone unspoken.