On Saturday, I was finishing my holiday gift shopping and was just about to leave a department store when I passed the jewelry counter. A tiny pair of earrings caught my attention. What stopped me in my tracks were the little leopard faces and their emerald, green eyes.
(No, these were not the fancy Cartier ones, but still so pretty.)
My mother, who passed away a little more than a year ago, had stunning green eyes that sparkled like gems. Seeing those earrings immediately reminded me of her. I walked over and asked a woman unlocking a case behind the counter if she could help me. She said she could, but made it clear she was just about to go on break.
“I’m supposed to be on break,” she said, “but if you really can’t wait…” She walked over, looked at me, rolled her eyes, and asked, “Do you have to see them right now?”
I told her I was done shopping in the store and that if she couldn’t help me, or if there wasn’t someone else who could, I would simply leave. I said, it just wasn’t that important.
Out of nowhere, a bubbly redhead, let’s call her Bernadette, materialized. She had a cheerful smile and wore a bright red sweater and a long necklace of colorful Christmas tree bulbs that lit up without any apparent pattern. But it was her warmth, and the way she made direct eye contact, that meant the most to me.
The first saleswoman made a huffing noise, strapped on her money belt, and walked away from the counter towards the breakroom. I thanked Bernadette and told her I just wanted to see the earrings.
“Certainly!” she said.
As I tried them on, I looked at her and quietly said that the emeralds reminded me of my mother’s eyes. Bernadette replied, “Oh, I know that feeling. I bet you lost your mom. I lost my mother a few years ago, and you never quite get over it.”
She said that the holidays were especially tough for her, and that in reality, none of us are ever truly alone. She also told me that the earring were 70% off due to a sale.
She picked up immediately on what was happening on my side of the counter. Her unexpected kindness was so disarming that tears rose to my eyes, their saltiness blurring my vision. I thought, I am not going to cry in a department store. I am not going to cry in a department store.
I did buy the earrings, and I thanked Bernadette. And I told her how nice it was to meet someone so special and to have the chance to speak with her.
Later that night, I thought about the experience and wondered if there was a moral to the story. Perhaps if I had I walked out after the first woman’s sour attitude, I would never have met Bernadette. And maybe meeting Bernadette was even more meaningful than the earrings.
