Sweat-soaked and spent of energy, I toss my damp towel on top
of a mountainous pile in the hamper labeled Towels.
“Excuse me. You can’t do that.” A lady rises from her
hunched over position, where she was apparently conspicuously reading a novel.
She picks my towel out of the pile and extends it out to me in her arms like an
offering.
“Can’t do what?” I’m late and in no mood to argue.
“You can’t throw your towel in there.”
“Why not? It’s clearly marked towels. I’m throwing in the
towel.”
She’s still holding my sweat-stained towel. “No can do.”
“But obviously many people have before me.”
“But they’re not you.”
Disgruntled, I scratch my neck, hoping to distract myself
from the irritation crawling over my skin like ravenous red ants. I huff, “Who
are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?”
“Take a guess.”
“Seriously? I’m done. I’ve worked out, put in my time. I’ve
got nothing else to give, lady. And I’m not really in a guessing mood.”
She blinks. Suddenly, I notice something decipherable about
her. Her unusual eye color and the twinkle reflecting off the stud jewel in her
nose. “Okay, I’ll bite. You do look a little familiar.”
“Ha, that’s funny.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“Because you made me.”
“Okay, this has officially gotten weird. I’m throwing in the
towel and taking off. Nice to chat.” I flip around. As my hand slaps the glass
door marked Exit I’m flooded with recognition.
“I do know you.” I turn around to face the lady head on.
“Yep.”
“So why are you here, at this gym—by the towels?”
“I had a feeling you’d show up someday. You need me here
now.”
“Are you going to spill your name or am I going to have to
guess that, too?”
“That’s a little tricky.”
“Right. Tricky because…” I wait her out hoping she’ll fill
in the blank.
“Because I’m all of ‘em.”
I stare at her unruly auburn hair, the sharp slope of her
nose, even the way she’s standing, as though her hip might jump from its socket
and she needs to hold it in place. She’s not kidding. “I didn’t know that was
possible.”
“Neither did I—seeing you, that is. I confess I’m a little
in awe of seeing you for the first time. I don’t know whether to thank you or to
run from you. But instead of thanking or running, I think I’ll just give you
this for now, then call it a day.” She pushes my towel into my hands. “It’s
yours. You’re not finished yet. In fact, you’ve barely just begun. Now get out
there and write me well.”
I press my face to the damp towel and rub my eyes, still
shocked at our exchange. When I turn around to thank her she’s gone. But the enormous
pile of towels has grown even higher. Surrendered stories. Writers who quit
before their time.
Not me. Not today.
I intend to thank her after all, by honoring her request…to
write, and write, and write her well.
Have you ever had an
unexpected person remind you not to quit?
*photo by stock.XCHNG
Every Friday I’m going to ask a question. The questions I
choose might be ambiguous on purpose. The goal is to have you answer the
question according to your beliefs, where you’re at in life or a circumstance
that might have recently impacted you. The only thing I ask is that you provide
an explanation for why you answered the way you did.
It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also
to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.
Lately I’ve been thinking about the delicate balance between
not caring what others think &
caring what others think (as with most things, both can have positive and negative
aspects). We all fall on a spectrum between caring too much and not caring at
all, which of course varies depending on the situation, our confidence level, our
investment, etc.
