Pedicures and the Measure of Humanity

The woman that does my nails left the shop she'd worked at for over a decade to start her own. I'd gone to her since I was a teenager, I felt a little awkward about it, but I followed her and her services to her new shop (even though the old shop was just a few doors down the way lol). When she opened the doors to her new place, I went in to congratulate her and check things out. She sees me and her face lights up and she comes jogging over to me. She's got sunny eyes and a big smile; she's always had a genuinely friendly demeanor. "Oleebya!", my name is clumsy on her lips, she has a heavy Vietnamese accent. It's endearing because she makes a point to get to know her customers by name, and always asks about the goings-on of mothers, children, brothers, sisters, husbands, etc. She greets me with a hug, takes my hand and says in broken english, "I so happy you come my shop, you bring me good luck! All time you come, I very busy!" I'm surprised and not really sure of how to react so I kind of giggle it off and tell her how nice her new digs are. She gives me a quick tour, and gives me half off my fill and pedicure. She walks me out when I leave and waves me off as I get into my car, again an enormous grin on her face. She thinks of me as her lucky charm, how about that. As I'm driving off, I smile a half-smile to myself.



It's funny. The people we come in contact with day-to-day, and some over extended periods of time. How we impact each other's lives, and how the unimportant, mundane memories that for one reason or another get caught in our filters and stick with us. We are all not so alone, though it often feels that way. Someone, somewhere, that we know well, not so well, or in some cases have yet to meet, for any number of reasons is thinking of us. Wondering how we're doing, is secretly in love or in lust with us, worries after our well-being, holds us in high esteem, or is glad to know us.



The big things are always poignant. But it's those seemingly insignificant kernels that catch in our sieves; that's the real meat and potatoes of the human experience. Yes, physically we are all individual threads. But these threads are woven into this elaborate tapestry; a macramé of energies and experiences. Wrapping themselves in one another. Moving toward and away from one another. All threads in a grander design. They are what give our lives its richness and worth.



I remember being at my great grandparents' house in Tennessee, seeing fireflies for the first time when I was four years old. I remember the smell of beer and cigarettes, and falling asleep to the muffled sound of my dad's bass guitar and drums as his band practiced in our garage. I remember falling in love with music. I remember my mother's soft hands and how the smell of her was in her pillow. I remember being tickled and laughing so hard that I thought I would suffocate. I remember feeling like an outsider in elementary school and middle school; wondering if I'd ever find a true friend. I remember my mother pressing my hair with a hotcomb while she played Stevie Wonder 45's on my dad's old record player. I remember dancing and feeling more passion than I thought my young heart was capable of. I remember being proud of the battle scars I'd given my ballet flats in class. I remember him looking at me while driving around in the backseat of my best friend's car, and how I felt beautiful for the first time. I remember the first friend that discarded our friendship. I remember my first taste of a carne asada burrito. I remember the smell of Rosarito mid-afternoon, and catching a glimpse of a humpback whale under the moon that same night. I remember my first encounter with racism. I remember my grandfather's heartbeat as I fell asleep in his lap. I remember me fixing my hair, and him saying that it didn't matter because I'd always be ugly, with so much venom in his voice. I remember my first lapdance, and how she smelled like raspberry lotion and cognac. I remember him in the dark, playing guitar at the foot of the bed and stopping to run his fingers along the inside of my ankle. I remember my first kiss during lunch period in high school. I remember my first broken heart. I remember the sharp, cold desert air while driving alone, going to Las Vegas for the first time. I remember his eyes saying what his mouth didn't. I remember the smell of him, walking past my desk in English class and wishing that he thought of me before he fell asleep at night. I remember being aroused for the first time. I remember being stood up. I remember him being more afraid than I was when he took my virginity. I remember cold sand under foot at the beach at midnight. I remember feeling like I finally belonged somewhere. I remember my black history professor's salt n pepper hair and sweater vests. I remember being ok with being alone. I remember giving half my chocolate bar to a homeless kid with a lip ring and his girlfriend in the middle of downtown San Francisco. I rememeber the thick, humid air of an Atlanta morning. I remember falling asleep under an oak tree in the middle of the day in the Santa Barbara mountains. I remember the void that opened in my heart when I knew I'd never see him again, or feel his hands or hear his voice. I remember sitting on my aunt's porch in the Louisiana bayou at 1am, watching the lightning of a summer storm fork through the clouds.



Somewhere in the world, a woman that I spoke to in passing at an airport will, out of the blue, remember a smartmouth remark that I made and laugh to herself. Or years from now, a waitress in a random restaurant in Los Angeles will remember the nice tip I left her. We all enrich each other's lives; we're all joined through the weave of life's needlework. At any given time, you are treasured and full of worth.



I think of Van, the bubbley Vietnamese woman with the sunshine face that does my nails, and I feel comforted.