Unlike most rascals my age, I didn't much hang around with friends or sit by the pool or flirt with prospective boyfriends this summer. No, not much of that went on. I was with me most of the time. Plain old me, with my frizzy hair and my fat fingers and my frazzled brain cells buzzing around like go-carts. Of course there was the usual tea with Judy after work-- does this count as socializing? Anyway, when your mom is the one you pal around with most during the summer, it has the power to change a person. You start thinking profound things and asking questions that aren't normal to your nature; you start being introspective to a fierce degree, is what I mean.
The question, or idea, that took a seat in my mind this summer, twiddled its thumbs, enjoyed a tall glass of lemonade, and just about overstayed its welcome, was that of love. Love, love, love, love (I'm almost queasy!). Well of course love is a pretty crazy thing; we all know that. It's a constant source of conversation, and no doubt, whether in whisper or proclamation, the word's bound to slip out of your mouth at least once in a day. But what I wanted to figure out was, to me, to you, what exactly is it?
At first thought, I see love as a flamboyant show, a gaudy expression of head-over-heels passion, or compassion. You know, something like a weekend getaway in Maui, the launching of an orphanage, the donating of bone marrow to your uncle. But when you really get down to it, I mean break it down into buttercup-sized blossoms of thought, the most basic form of all of these things is selflessness. Any act of love--big, small, or medium-sized--seems to me, has to begin with some sort of selfless behavior. As I thought, I began to realize that, as far as passion goes, love could range anywhere from Pitbull to Golden Retriever on the spectrum. What I'm saying is, an act doesn't necessarily have to be a boisterous show of love in order to remain... well, loving, I guess is the right word. So, I figured, seeing that my goal was to find my own definition of love and put it into practice, it was time to start somewhere.
Before work one night, I toss up a small request to the Heavens: I'd like to help someone out tonight. It's a tornado of an evening; we're on a wait. "Shannon clear those plates; Shannon stock the ice, run the food; Shannon smile smile at the patrons!" Restaurant work is not for the faint of heart. I've always known it to be true.
At the end of the night, I finish up my closing tasks, no doubt I'm about to be dismissed, and meander out to the host station. There stands my forlorn co-worker, a cast on her wrist. She explains that she has tendinitis. "It's starting to hurt real bad," says she, a pinch between her brows. I stand there a moment. I think about my throbbing bunions, my stiff back, my own wretched, aching wrists (Oh, blast the rolling of silverware!). I think about being home, my pajamas, my bed, a cup of tea. Could this be it? Is this my selfless act? So lame, so nothing, yet to me, so something! I muster hard the will: "Listen, I'll stay. You can leave." How I flinch inside to say it! But I have come to believe that if we feign sincerity in a way that we hope to one day act genuinely, we can train ourselves to become real in our kindness. "Are you sure? Cool." She shrugs and scurries over to the clock-out station, leaving me there at the front to wallow in my noble generosity. I am proud of myself, though and try to maintain a good attitude. After all, this had been my one and only desire earlier in the night.
It isn't for another ninety minutes that I get the OK to bolt. Finally, I am free to go. I walk through the doors into the real world without so much as a thank you or expression of sympathy from anyone; not a soul offers a pat on the back for my effort. As I walk outside, the summer flies prance around me, caring more that I smell like french fries and all-American burgers than anything else. The universe proves indifferent to my amicable gesture. I suppose it has every right to, as I so often overlook even the most majestic acts of the universe.
I open the door and heave myself into the seat of my car. I have dwindled to this: a worthless blob atop two slip-resistant shoes. I give myself a slight nod of self-approval. "So there," sigh I. I start my car in solitude and drive home with only my thoughts riding shotgun.
And so, I presume, I have loved.
