Posted: Dec 1, 08 8:04am

I went out to by doughnuts last Wednesday night. I’ve done this once every week or so for the last year. There is usually a lady there, a customer; sitting in one of the bolted-to-the-floor booths, with papers spread here and there, and a laptop, up and running. A cup is always on the table, and a few cream cups and sugar packs litter the tabletop, along with files, and pages, and enough crumpled doughnut tissues to indicate more than just passing through. Maybe the cup is a coffee, maybe water. I don’t know.

She always says something to me, a greeting, or a mention of the weather, which doughnuts are freshest. I always force myself to smile and nod a short reply. Not too encouraging; you can’t talk to strangers nowadays; all it takes is one wrong glance and you’ll be done for before you know it. Wallet stolen, or car jacked, or pricked with a needle and sold off to skin peddlers.

Tonight she mentions my ensemble; running shorts and flip flops. In November? Aren’t I cold? Childbirth and a minor addiction to putting one foot in front of the other at a rapid rate of speed takes away any of the cold that may still be in my body, but I don’t tell her this. I just smile and say no, I’m fine. My tone is not welcoming, and do I not encourage anything further. I turn back to the doughnut store owner, and try to urge him to hurry with my eyes. He gets the message; after all, he’s been alone with her for hours, I can tell by the way he holds my gaze, and gives me a deeper look.

She prattles on, interrupting our one- or two-word exchanges. Everything was fresh; he’d been busy cutting and frying, trying to avoid the chatterbox in the lobby. This time I don’t look back at her, I don’t reply.

We were the only customers this night, the night before a holiday meant to be spent with family. Mine was in the car, drooling at the thought of a fresh chocolate filled, or powdered, something with sprinkles for the littlest one. All she’ll eat is the sprinkles, and any frosting; leaving behind the doughnut itself, the very reason for the frosting and sprinkles, but I humor her anyway.

I don’t know where her family was; the lady behind the too-tight table loaded with papers and her computer. She spoke up again, and I swallowed away my feelings of guilt. After all, my children would be in my arms in moments, gleeful with chocolate covered faces. We would go home to a home that overflowed with people, and conversation, and happiness. I don’t know if she even has a family, or children, or where they are if she does. Her children aren’t close by; or their mother wouldn’t be sitting in an empty doughnut shop soliciting conversation from whoever is kind enough to dispense it to her. Her work is her only companion, or that may be a cover; what stops her from being truly alone, not only in the doughnut shop, but in life.

That could be me; there but for the Grace go I. Should I punish her with my silence, and ignore her awkwardly, simply for the sin of being lonely? She’s obviously been ignored for a while now; turned away from, and not even given the courtesy of a smile. She buys human contact where she buys her doughnuts and coffees; and even he won’t be bothered to chat with her a while. God knows I have enough words – enough to fill the whole night, and more, if necessary. It is no inconvenience, I’m already standing there.

But it is the thought that this could be me that chills my heart, and puts a lump in my throat. How do I know that it won’t be me, some day; when my own friends are busy, and my children no longer need their mother? What right do I have? None.

The manager hands me my box of treats, and my debit card back. I pull a five out of my shorts pocket, and hand it to him. His eyes beam for a moment; a tip? No. Give her a round, on me. He rolls his eyes. I don’t care, it’s my money, and it’s my heart. Let his doughnuts and his dollars be his companions; he seems to be content with that. I stop on the way out, and put my doughnuts on her table, careful not to disturb her paperwork.

I wish her a happy Thanksgiving, and tell her that it’s always so nice to see her. When I hug her, she hugs me back. Her smile is genuine, and we hold on a bit longer than we might otherwise. But I don’t let go first.