Window

There it was. It sat precariously on the toilet paper dispenser in the grocery bathroom. A window into another world. “Take $20 from my $100 withdrawal for Ryan’s cable bill.” That was all. Just a note, a reminder. A slip of paper absentmindedly forgotten in the haste to wash one’s hands. The handwriting is spidery, shaky, like holding a pen is almost too fatiguing to the muscles. Its author learned to write in a time when writing well was an accomplishment. It is cursive, each letter perfectly formed. The tips of the t’s just barely brush the top of the line above them. The curve of one letter into another never falls beneath the bottom line.

This is that woman’s life. And this is Ryan’s life. What was she doing with that slip of paper in a grocery store? Who is Ryan? Why is she paying his cable bill? How is he getting cable for only $20 a month? I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. But somewhere out there is a woman, to whom these answers make up the details that compose her life.