a stranger named Steve, and happy father's day, Mom

Went to Fry's to get Mom a digital camera (on Father's Day, of all days). Was intensely jealous, I have to admit. Kuya bought it for her because he broke her camera a long time ago and promised to get her a new one, and now that he's working (and earning more money than I will hope to see in a lifetime), he fulfilled his promise.

Here's where this post takes an interesting and wonderful turn...

Went with Kuya to the cashier section to pay for the things. He was a cashier.

His glasses caught my eye. They were black-rimmed, rectangular, reminding me about the boy with glasses (see my Sept.-Dec. posts, if you're not familiar with this character). He was pale, rickets-thin, embodying all the male stereotypical geeky, dorky qualities that linger between the 20s and 30s. His head was shaved, and I detected a balding pattern. He was gorgeous.

The cashier's area is like a huge long counter, one cashier after another behind it, and customers in front of it, if you're not familiar with the Fry's store layout. Our cashier was two stations away from him. I waited for Kuya during the transaction a few feet behind as to not crowd the counter. That's where I could perfectly watch him.

He was succint and courteous with his customers. He greeted them with a slight, polite nod and quiet smile--an action that made me smile inside and my Amelie mode come into play.

I wondered if he knew I was watching him, that I was interested in him. I wanted him to know. I was hoping that this interest would flatter him, comfort him, let him know that strangers can make a profound effect on strangers.

I caught a glimpse of his nametag: Steve, I think. Steve.

We left. I was happy to have seen this stranger, imprinting his visage and mannerisms in my memory. I didn't expect to see him again except for in my mind's eye.

Kuya had bought the wrong memory card for the camera. We needed to go back to Fry's. As we drove along the 91, I entertained the thought of seeing him again behind the cashier. It could happen. I could see him again.

We entered the parking lot. I couldn't believe it. I whispered an "oh my God" to myself. My own personal form of thank you to Him.

He was pushing carts. He was outside in his black Dickies, tucked in crisp white oxford shirt and tie, sunglasses, pushing carts with a co-worker.

I laughed to myself. I imagined that he always volunteered for the task, that he liked the excercise, the sun, the fresh air, the chance to get out of that building. Thank you God for that moment.

We head to the cashier again, this time with the right product. I didn't see him. Probably still pushing carts. I stood next to Kuya this time.

Steve walked to the cashier next to us and stood there, not doing "cashier things" but rather, using the cashier computer. This is more than I could have asked for. I couldn't believe my luck. A million thanks to mon Dieux. Since I was closer this time, I caught his name: Steve Holloway. A nice name. A final gift.

We left. And I was happy and blushing. I can always tell that I am blushing because my cheeks burn when I blush.

Sometimes I feel closer to strangers than to real people. We share nothing and everything all at the same time. We can't hurt each other because we know nothing of each other. I'll be okay if I never see him again.

birthday wish list:
1. a thousand more moments like these
2. a nice dinner with the fam
3. assorted dvds and cds