People talk to me. I’ve been told I’ve got that way about me. The one that makes total strangers approach you in a coffee shop or book store, strike up a conversation and invariably end up sharing intimate details about their past and/or present troubles.
Some of these people have been certifiable; the one who began reading part of a screenplay I was writing on my computer over my shoulder and then began asking me industry questions….at least she told me she found what I was writing to be very interesting. A compliment is a compliment is a compliment….I’ll take it. Certifiable people are not by design unintelligent.
And then there are people like Stan. Stan and I happened to make our way up Broadway from the Columbus Circle area together. We met on the same corner and stepped out into a car speeding through the intersection. “I’ll protect you,” Stan said as he smiled my way. “You’re much too pretty not to be protected.” Coming out of someone else’s mouth, the words would have seemed exactly as they were intended, but from Stan, they were a genuine statement of his feeling, regardless of their intention and his lack of any bravado was comforting.
“So what do you do?” Stan inquired. Trying to deny the complete and utter lack of production on the writing front these last two weeks I answered, “I’m a writer.” Stan was impressed. “Everyone wants to do what you do.” “They can, I’m not quite making a living at it yet.” “But you are on your way,” Stan reassured me. Why the reassurance of total strangers seems more genuine than that of those closest to you I have no idea but it did make me feel better and he was right. I am on my way. I’ve just had a short I co-wrote produced and have offers to write two features. How could I not see this as progress or at least a reason to get out of bed in the morning? Still when faced with a terrible case of writer’s block, staying in bed is much more pleasurable.
Then Stan made me feel better in another way…”You’re probably all of 24, right?” Ha Ha! Oh Stan, I think I’m in love… I did only stop getting carded this past year but still....I’m well into my 30s and the closest I am to 24 is when I’m watching Kiefer Sutherland save Renee Walker from the Russian buyers of weapons grade plutonium. Stan was not only shocked when I told him how not 24 I was but then added, “You’re lucky. You’re going to look young and beautiful your whole life.” Oh Stan…if only I felt that way.
“What do you do?” I asked. “I want to do what you do.” Stan had been in finance and was smart enough to get out of the game before the apocalyptic events in our economy took him out. He was now working on a book about managing not only your personal finances but your life…Lucky for Stan, his finances were well enough in order that he could work on his creative endeavors with peace of mind and no pressure to make a living at it. I hope he’s a good writer, I should probably read that book.
As we approached our point of departure, I shared with Stan the name and location of the coffee shop where I like to do my writing when I’m on the Upper West Side and Stan shared the name of the chocolatier he was headed to only a block further north. I accompanied him into the store in the hopes of pre-valentines chocolate samples.
Apparently, love isn’t free and neither is chocolate. But the aroma of freshly baked cookies and hot chocolate worked wonders on the less than stellar mood I woke up in. And so did Stan. The exchange with a stranger regardless of motivation, was genuine, honest and simple and less complicated than with so many people we come in contact with on a daily basis. There is something to be said for the kindness of strangers, and his name was Stan. I guess that makes me Stella…or Blanche. I’m still figuring it out.
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