The day I met her I was trying desperately to wax poetic with my pen and paper at the small local-owned coffee shop a couple blocks from my house.

I was trying to be cute & clever, but was missing by miles.

There is something about being a try hard… Creating from that space causes the words to sew up around themselves and fall completely silent.

And you tell me, what is worse than silent words?

I know this, but it is head knowledge that hasn’t quite made the short but nearly impossible journey to my heart. As a result, I insisted that the words cooperate with me instead of the other way around.

Glancing up from my page, I felt the bitter wind bite at my ankles as the wind whipped some debris around in a swirling eddy to my right. The air was crisp with the first hints of fall creeping into the early mornings. Several leaves had begun to turn, nonchalantly offering a faint glimpse of things to come…

Death.

Death of many things but mostly death of those things past that no longer serve these things now.

Stubbornly, I continued to stare at the vacant page in front of me, while all the while, it taunted.

She must have mistook me for someone else…

because she plopped right down in the chair across from me as if we were old friends meeting for our weekly morning out.

Startled, I looked up from my vacuous trance and could do nothing but gape at the almost too-thin figure in front of me.

She didn’t make eye contact, just tossed her worn-out, sky blue backpack in the chair between us and began ruffling through its contents.

Fluidly, like liquid wax, she pulled her sketch book and pencil sac out and somewhat forcefully tossed them onto the table.

Running her hand through her hair, she sighed.

It was a long exhausted sigh, like only a person with considerable age – much more than the twenty-something face in front of me – and responsibility could possibly discharge. As if she were closer to 40, staring down the barrel of a difficult marriage, an unfulfilling job, and teenage kids… with not a friend in the world to lean on.

Oh wait… that’s me.

I snarked inwardly and continued to stare while this woman-child persistently settled in.

By now, I was amused. Me, just waiting for her to finally make eye contact and realize her mistake. Her, continuing her absent-minded routine.

Clearly, I am not the person you are supposed to meet since I have never laid eyes on you in my life. I boldly scolded in the safe confines of the vast echoing hallways of my inner world.

Though she did seem hauntingly familiar, like an old sweater or a favorite stuffed toy from decades past.

How long before she realizes? I wondered. How long before she steps out of her reverie and takes notice of me?

Suddenly, she stopped rummaging around, plopped back in her chair, and closed her eyes.

I squirmed

Feeling uncomfortable now, as if I had interrupted her morning, imposed on her territory, and completely ignored her. Instead of the other way around.

She remained motionless, except for the barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

And just like that, I was completely drawn into this woman’s world.

I wanted desperately to get to know her.

A storm of questions thundered through my brain. Who are you? Why are you here? Tell me your story? Do you have a story? Why are you so thin? Do you need help? Even, and I’m embarrassed to admit… Can we be friends?

What type of person feels so completely comfortable with themselves that they need only sit in silence – no greeting, no words – simply be and share space.

All at once, I wanted her to remain there across from me for the rest of eternity. I didn’t want her to open her eyes EVER. Because then she would realize that I wasn’t who she thought I was and that she had made an embarrassing mistake.

She would be obliged to apologize and move on. And I would be forced to lose… This.

This what was before me… her

Her outfit was just the type of bold, beautiful statement that I could only aspire to in my wildest imaginations. It screamed originality with an I don’t give a fuck flair that was neither confrontational nor insecure.

But when I looked closer, the pieces that put the outfit together were simple. There wasn’t much to it. A simple form fitting, black v-neck accentuated her perfectly shaped breasts. The high-waisted bright red skinny jeans reminiscent of the eighties tapered down to meet knee high, multi-colored, striped wool socks. A fiery orange and red scarf hung loosely around her tiny waist. She was a mess of haphazard color that somehow worked.

Her jewelry wasn’t flashy or expensive, just a simple short necklace with tiny, hammered, organic swirls that dangled right in the hollow of her neck.

Her hair hung on either side in beautiful long braids, while all the wild, stray wisps were held back with a boho style head band.

She reminded me of me – only younger, freer, and more beautiful.

Without movement or warning, her eyes flew open and just like that our eyes locked. I could as much look away and pretend I hadn’t been staring at her just as much as she could pretend she wasn’t in the wrong spot.

I smiled.

Instead of a sheepish grin, followed by an apology… instead of blushing and running away… she simply stood, walked around the table, and paused at my side.

“Hi,” she beamed as if she truly did know me and hadn’t accidentally mistook me for some other friend she was supposed to meet. She reached down and pulled me up, wrapping her arms around my neck in a warm, loving embrace.

Not knowing any other way to respond, I hugged her back.

She squeezed harder.

It felt so right… hugging this stranger. Her embrace felt like I had just come home from a long, arduous journey and was now, finally, safe.

When she released me, I could see she had tears in her eyes.

“My name is Transformation.” She spoke in a soft whisper. “and you have no idea how long I have waited to see you again.”

Thank YOU!

Thanks for stopping by. If you have ever had an encounter with Transformation I would love to hear about it. Please leave a comment below!