I often stumble upon the opportunity to have short but pleasant conversations with strangers. They may or may not remember it by the next day, but I certainly would. I have a feeling that the exchange I had this morning with a stranger will be in both of our memories for more than a few hours.
While reading and consuming an iced vanilla latte at my favorite Starbux in all of the city this late morning, I saw a mother come inside the establishment. She was holding an infant with one hand and pushing a stroller with her other. Her light brown hair was down past her shoulders; she wore a bright blue v-neck dress with triangular sleeves. After she came out of the facilities, we made eye contact. She had the prettiest bluish-green eyes I have ever seen in a woman. I instantly thought of the actress Bridget Regan.
She purchased an iced latte and headed outside to one of the tables under the covered patio. She may have seen me watching her when she looked back into the store. Although I was planning on staying at that Starbux for thirty more minutes, I didn’t want to miss the chance to tell her I thought she had lovely eyes. Without over-analyzing my approach or choice of words, I gathered up my things and headed outside…just as she was getting up to leave too. She was five steps ahead of me and when I got within ten feet of her and she happened to look to her right, I said, “I know this sounds strange but I wanted to tell you that you have the prettiest eyes.”
Her face lit up like a sunrise. She thanked me for the compliment and remarked that she was having a bad morning…she’d felt ugly because she’d recently had a child and gained all this baby weight, and she was on her way to a birthday party and nothing she tried on looked right. I then assured her that she looked lovely, “That blue looks great on you.” She thanked me again and said I made her day.
Will she remember me or just what I said? How much of me would she remember? If she were to tell her friends at the birthday party about what I had said, would it come down to me being “this girl,” “this Asian girl,” “someone.” I would be content with any of them. I don’t frequently get to make the days of strangers; the reverse is more common. Other people are more likely to make my day. A couple of hours later, I started to wish that I had gotten more than her name. I wished that I had given her a way to contact me in case she ever needed a sympathetic ear that was outside her own social circle. Alas, if I am to cross paths with her again, it’ll happen.