I was talking to a friend on the phone as we walked into the “Ivie juice bar” in Orem. The lady behind the counter took our orders and I sat down to wait.
A lady walks out from the backroom to deliver a completed order to another sitting customer.
I got up once she returned with our order and engaged her in conversation. Something I wouldn’t have done in another life.
She laughed and noted that I cut off my friend in order to hand her my phone. She could see his picture on the screen. I said this was more important and he can always call me back. She appeared eager enough to give me her number. As she handed back my phone, my left hand which had been in my pocket up until that moment came out. Her eyes flashed very briefly at the hand and I saw her expression change ever so slightly.
I know that look and I know that smile that is a mixture of guilt and regret. May be it is 5% in my head, but I am certain it is 95% true.
I said I will call her as she walked away to which she nodded.
I sent a text the next day. No response.
I called two days after and let it ring until it went to voice mail. I didn’t leave any messages. There was no point.
You are different, you are special, why would you want to be normal when you were born to standout?
Don’t get me wrong, I subscribe to not being “normal”: be creative; be idiosyncratic; be colorful, be flowery; but be deformed (in any way) is not one of those normal you shouldn’t be. If I had the power, I would grow a normal hand with normal fingers. You would think at my age I would be used to it and sometimes I almost convince myself that I am, but events such as these are there to remind me that I am indeed different – not necessarily in a positive way.
Time proceeds without stopping and so must I – after all nothing is certain except death and taxes.