It was already dark when I walked outside. There were too many loud voices behind me, angry voices. I needed to get away. With no destination in mind, I just started walking.
I walked until I got to the local city park. Officially, it was closed – it was well after sunset. But there was no gate. I went and sat on top of one of the picnic tables in the dark.
I sat there, sniffling and wiping my face. Eventually, I saw someone in the distance. A hooded figure, walking towards me. They weren’t sneaking; I could hear them easily. And they were slow enough that I could leave if I wanted to.
As they reached the outer tables, they stopped for a moment, giving me another chance to leave. I couldn’t see their face, it was too dark, and their hoodie made it hard to see. But they seemed young. Maybe a teenager. After a moment, they climbed up onto their own picnic table.
I decided to stay.
“You okay?” they asked.
I laughed, “No, not really.”
They nodded in sympathy. “Wanna talk about it?”
I thought for a moment, then said, “No, not really.”
They nodded again, and we settled into silence.
Maybe another half an hour went by, and then they spoke. “Someone said to me once, ‘Don’t let people live rent-free in your head.’ ” They shrugged, and we went back into friendly silence. At first, the words seemed silly to me. But then something shifted, and my perspective changed.
I was sitting on a dirty picnic table, crying in the dark, with a stranger whose face I couldn’t see. A stranger who cared enough to sit in the dark with me. Someone who didn’t try to take advantage, or even pressure me to find out why I was crying. Someone who spoke out of the silence with wisdom and compassion. It felt like worship.
“Don’t let people live rent-free in your head.” I wondered what those words meant to me. Then I heard myself say, “I can’t control other people, or how they see me, but I can decide how much of myself I want to give.” The stranger nodded in agreement. That small shift in perspective didn’t change any of my circumstances, but it gave me what I desperately needed – a reminder that I had value.
After a few more minutes of silence, I stood up and brushed off. “I think I’m ready to go back. You take care of yourself,” I said. “You too,” the stranger replied.
I started walking back to the house, knowing it would still be full of loud and angry voices. But I had something that I didn’t have before, the comfort of knowing that even when I was a stranger, I wasn’t alone. ~~~
Mim Lilly Coleman (any/all pronouns) attends Salmon Bay Monthly Meeting in Seattle and works as the Youth Program Coordinator for North Pacific Yearly Meeting. They are currently in school following a leading to become a hospital/disaster-response chaplain.