The woman looked so sweet. Slightly stooped,big kind eyes, a scarf with bunnies covering receding, wispy gray hair. She could have been someone’s YaYa.
“Excuse me, my dear,” she said.
Rhea knew it was about the birthmark.
It was always about the birthmark.
The birthmark looked exactly like caramel curling from her lip, like she had hastily eaten a candy bar.
“It’s a birthmark,” Rhea said, as pleasantly as possible.
At least the woman hadn’t wet a tissue and wiped it without asking. People at church had done that, a woman at the beach in Tampa, a drunk guy at an outdoor jazz show had done it with a sweaty bandana.
Rhea would have had it removed, except YaYa’s story about it being a sign of deep wisdom on the tiny Greek Isle where she was raised.
There was a whole folk tale behind it, a bird and a worm, and a wonderfully twisting, winding yarn that was too long for Rhea to recount for strangers and too obscure for Rhea to have ever found on a printed page
But the story, as told by YaYa, had been a great source of comfort to a child with a face that garnered unwanted attention.
“ I know it’s a birthmark, young lady.”
The woman fumbled in her purse as though she was looking for a tissue, as though she would try to wipe it off even knowing it was attached.
Rhea held her smile but wished she could pull the moving elevator doors open and ride down the outside.
She pulled out a card and handed it to Rhea.
“My nephew is a plastic surgeon.”
“Oh, thank you,” Rhea said. “I’m not looking to have it removed. It would upset my grandmother.”
The woman’s eyebrows danced.
“Really? Ok.”
Rhea handed the card back to the woman, who shook her head.
“Keep it. He’s single. You’re quite attractive despite your little… doohickey.”
Rhea snorted, amused and annoyed at the same time.
“ It’s not a …doohickey. In my YaYa’s village, a birthmark like this is considered a sign of intelligence and wisdom.”
The woman returned the snort.
“We’re in Cleveland, Ohio, honey. Taking a shot at dating a surgeon is considered a sign of intelligence and wisdom.”
The elevator doors opened and Rhea exited, despite it not being her floor.
***
You never really know what it’s like to walk in another person shoes. All you can do is have compassion. This is a great story for illustrating this delicate human dance. Do we project on others? Do we push our agenda on others? Do we try to find the humor/truth in a situation when we have accidentally stepped in some Doohickey?
Inappropriate humor at inappropriate times… It’s one of my specialties lol!