"It's been a long day without you, my friend. And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again"

I sit with my back against the side of gray stucco building, allowing its textured surface to support me. My feet, in comfortable and supportive sneakers, are flat against the concrete square, an anomaly to the rest of the asphalt driveway. My elbows lean against my knees. My head falls against my hands, in the crevice between the thumbs and forefingers. I imagine to the nearest bystander I look like a ball in an upright fetal position.

My blue jeans absorb the heat from the sun, which on the late summer day in western Massachusetts is deceiving. In the shade, it feels like early autumn. A cool breeze easily ignites goosebumps on my arms, but in the sun, it resembles a pleasant day in mid-June. The sun’s warmth is sharp enough to leave a stinging sensation, but I don’t move. My tush is flattened and seemingly reshaped by the concrete ground and I listen for the quiet and peace in the residential neighborhood.

With a busy street nearby, the sounds of passenger vehicles and the stray commercial truck move about, rustling the silence like dried leaves in the breeze. Miles away, a siren rings out much like the voices in my head and the frenzy within the office building.

With my head in my hands, I desperately try and push the immense sadness that threatens to consume the rest of me. I’ve ignored it thus far, but like in the aftermath of nineteen years ago, I’m suddenly battling the various stages of grief – shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, and acceptance. With desperation, I want to push them out of my mind. What if we just pretend for this year it didn’t happen? What if we ignore it?

As soon as the questions form in my mind, the answer reveals itself in the opposite emotion. I don’t want to forget her. I don’t want to pretend she didn’t exist. I want her here. I want to call her. See her. Hear her voice. I can’t believe she left me. Left us. Guilt follows. I can’t. I just can’t. Not today.

My mind drifts. Suddenly, it’s the day before and I’m standing beneath an awning of an outside strip mall. Rain teems down from above. I look back at my car through the downpour that has already soaked me once. “Dammit!” I yell out, just steps from the entrance of the grocery store staring at a “Face mask required” sign.

Frantically, I dig through my purse that I’m certain is a black hole. In true Hermoine Granger fashion, I’m sure I’ll find a missing shoe in this cross-strap deep hole before I find anything resembling a face covering. Bending over my purse and almost crouching, like that will make the desperate search easier, I move stray papers and pens from side to side, sure the blue night sky and yellow stars cloth face mask is in here.

A soft voice from literally above me speaks, “Need a quarter for the cart?” she asks.

I look up. A heavy-set young woman of about twenty years old stands over me. Her dark brown hair is pulled up in a ponytail. She wears black-rimmed glasses, black jeans, sneakers, a bright floral top, and decorative backpack. She looks like she belongs on a college campus, not outside the store.

“No. Thank you,” I answer, turning my attention back to my purse. I feel as if I’m in a sprint and the finish line keeps stretching out before me with an obstacle course appearing between points A and B. The understanding that I’m running back to the car is quickly becoming a reality. “I can’t find my damn mask. I thought it was right here.”

“Oh. OK.”

Seconds later, she extends her hand. “Here, I have an extra one.” She’s holding a black cloth face mask.

I stop, glance up at her, and in the moment of hesitation she looks at me and eases my doubts. Unspoken peace, surety, and the goodness of humanity answer all of my silent questions. I take the mask exclaiming “Thank you. You’re a godsend!”

Snapping back to the present, I smile with my head in my hands and the sun searing my legs. I think about the angel who appeared out of nowhere, untouched by the torrential rain, and was sent to me in a moment of ordinary despair. She instantly lifted my spirits with a random act of kindness. Suddenly, it dawns on me: nineteen years may have passed, but she never left me.