I walk into the LSU library after a long, sleepless night. I am late to work. I am never late. I am already rehearsing what I will say when somebody notices, because somebody always notices.
The swinging door that leads into the book checkout area closes behind me. That is the official moment. I am at work now. And of course, my boss Florence is in the back office as I stroll in. Not going to be undetected.
I look at her. She looks straight back at me. Then she starts walking toward me with her arms out and says, “Are you okay?”
That is it. That is all it takes. The floodgates open.
I burst into tears. She wraps me up, my surrogate mom at school, and tries to assure me it is all going to be okay. I cannot talk because I am too busy trying to keep the sobbing silent, and failing, while my coworkers walk past with bewildered looks.
Once I start to calm down, Florence pulls back from me. “What happened?”
“Really, it isn’t that big a deal. You were just being nice to me, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I thought you’d be mad I was late. I could have kept my cool if you were mad at me.”
She laughs. “So, you wanted me to be upset with you?”
“It’s not that. I am never late, so I could have just been indignant. Get mad back. I am used to that. I feel like I am always up against a fight. How did you even know something was wrong?”
“Because you are never late, and you look like you just lost your best friend.”
My eyes start to water again.
“Dan and I broke up.”
Now the emotions are playing across her face, and this time one of them is anger. “What an idiot. Why would he want to break up?”
“I am not sure he does. His mom wants us to. You would understand. They are Catholic. I’m Jewish. It will never work, according to his mom.”
“Oh,” she whispers. Florence has taken in the entire library college staff as her adopted kids, and she knows exactly what I am telling her.
She reaches for me again and holds me close. The tears come back, quieter this time. Even my surrogate mom knows you cannot fight a Catholic mama.
The next day I am a little better. I walk into work twenty minutes early because I am determined to overcome my ridiculous show from the day before. There is a note on the time clock from Florence to come see her.
What now, I think. A delayed frustration about my behavior yesterday.
I have only been to her private office a few times. It is much quieter back there, out of the operational area. Maybe she is predicting another breakdown and wants to spare the staff and the patrons. I would.
I turn the handle and open the door. “Hey, what’s up?” I ask, in a voice that is much too cheerful.
“Hi sweetie. I just wanted to check on you today.”
“I am great. I am sorry about yesterday. It won’t happen again.”
“You are only a sophomore in college. It will happen again.”
The bravado is back. “Not this sophomore.”
“Look, you are only human like the rest of us. You don’t have to be embarrassed about yesterday. You are a strong, smart, wonderful young lady. We all need a good cry sometimes.”
And then I do it again. I spill my guts. First, I cry in public. Now I actually share something about my life. What is happening to me?
“You’d understand if you met my parents. They were so messed up. If I did something wrong, I got his wrath. But he did so many wrong things. Everything was a secret. I didn’t want anyone to know how messed up my life was, so I learned to fake it. I’m fine. I really could have handled it if you had just been mad at me.”
She does not rush in to fix that. She lets it sit there for a second.
“I know you’ll be fine,” she says. “I just want you to know that you are loved, and that you don’t always have to be strong.”
She is leaning against the front of her desk. This time I step forward and hug her.
“Thank you. I know I make it awkward. I just haven’t had people I could lean on.”
No time for tears that afternoon. I pull away and I am out the door before they even have a chance.
Thirty years later I have my own office; quiet and private.
A woman sits across from me and walks me through the worst year of her life without her voice breaking one time. The layoff. The move. Her mother. The son who doesn’t call anymore. She tells it the way you would read off a grocery list, and she is doing a good job of it, and I let her.
When she finishes, she looks up and shrugs. “Anyway. It isn’t that big a deal.”
I wait for her to look up and make eye contact. Then I lean forward a little and say, “That sounds really hard to me.”
And the floodgates open.
I hand her the tissues. I do not say anything for a while. I know what is coming next because I have done it myself. She is going to apologize. She does. Then she is going to reach for her purse and try to get out of the room before it lands on her.
I have all afternoon. Tears no longer bother me.
At least in others.
I hope she stays.
