I was at CVS. I was lost in my thoughts, gazing at a row on a shelf of two liter bottles of orange soda. I was looking at these bottles–technically I was, but my sight was x-ray–these bottles had might as well not been there and I would not have noticed; I was just staring into space, as the expression, and that space had just happened to be orange sodas. Anyway it could have been any sodas–not necessarily orange sodas–it wouldn’t have to be specific–but it would though, have to have been some type of soda or another, because soda was the very reason why I was at CVS in the first place.

So, I’m staring at these sodas. In my peripheral vision I notice an older woman approaching. Approaching my space. My space of orange sodas. I’d kept on with my gaze during this, but as she’d continued to approach my space, before I was able to respond to her presence, she spoke:

“Orange soda, huh.”

Now, were she in a blue vest, I wouldn’t even think to answer, but she wasn’t wearing a vest; she was not an employee of CVS, she had not come over to assist me–she was just a customer, as was I; so, there was a definite gap, in my actions–I did not answer her–or not fast enough, at least, as she’d beat me to next words:

“Ah, number seven, ah,”

She said. She said this nodding her head, approvingly, as if that, it was ‘about time’ that she’d seen one–my jersey, I mean. I was wearing a Buffalo Bills Doug Flutie Jersey, which was numbered with a seven. So I took from this, that she was a bills fan. Which had excited me, as that, I was in Georgia–and as a bills fan, from Buffalo–and so, I was pleasantly surprised to encounter one of my own, down there in Georgia. I’d perked up, pretty much immediately; I had forgotten all about my little, fizzy orange universe; I threw my arms up into a crossed position. I was facing her, squarely, before I even knew it.

“Yeah, Bills fan, ah…Flutie,”

I said, and with an accent that, admittedly was slightly more Buffalo than my usual. The As–Western New York accents are noticeably heavy on the As, stereotypically at least, but it is fairly true though, all the same. Ts also, for that matter. As and Ts. Buffalonians tend to over-hammer both of these letters. And so had I, in that moment, as I caught myself doing it. And it had made me wince. I don’t know, it just left me uncomfortable. The afterthought. Embarrassed with myself. She spoke, again:

“Oh, Bills, oh no…just seven. I like seven,” she said and, ended her words in an unexpectedly great big smile.

“Me, too,” I said, feeling then past ready for the conversation to over with. I’d glanced back at the orange sodas. Just briefly, did I do this, but I did; I did not want to be rude but, she was losing my attention. She was a senile old lady, I thought. Surely I could humor her for at least a couple minutes if nothing else, I decided. She said orange soda, again, to which, I smiled. I’m not sure though, if I’d smiled because, it’d be polite to smile or, if it’s because, as she was seemingly senile, I could not help but smile. I’m not sure. Either way, though, I smiled.

“Yeah, it’s my favorite,” I said. But what I’d almost said: “I love orange soda.”

I didn’t but, I almost did; Just as Kel, from Nickelodeon, ‘loved’ orange soda, I was gonna ‘love’ orange soda, too. But I didn’t. Not out loud. Kel did though, love orange soda. He definitely did. Anyone my own age should know that. I was looking at her face. She was convulsing with many emotions. It was like she couldn’t settle on one in particular, though.

“My brother just died,” she said.

She was not smiling.

“He was hit by a car, crossing the street, he’s dead,” she said.

I felt the blood, drain from my face. I couldn’t speak. I said nothing.

“But I’m just going to smile,” she said, her eyes quite red, forming water.

I just nodded. Firmly, did I do this. Emphatically, even. But I’d said nothing. Sure, many things had raced through my mind, things that, I could have said to her, but I didn’t speak. I couldn’t bring myself to utter a word. She’d stopped her eyes from tearing up, pressing her palms onto her closed lids; pressing them, like, she were ringing them dry; this had caused for a subtle sound to emit, as she did this, but it did the trick in a certain regard, though, as she had stopped herself from letting tears.

A couple of customers nearby us had overheard, and I could see the tops of their heads, roofing the aisle next over. They had stopped their shopping to listen in. I thought that I should maybe offer her a hug, in that moment. I did not know what to do, though. I was feeling pretty useless and for reasons which I knew–I just did not want to say: ‘I’m sorry.’

I really could not bring myself to say these two words to her; it was just but my opinion, that those two words would offer her nothing, that what they would equate to, would be but an empty statement.

“You just gotta do what you gotta do,”

I said, instead and quickly realized it was as equally an empty statement, if not less. But all the same, she’d appreciated it. She nodded. She spoke:

“Exactly, exactly. I just have to smile, because what else can I do.”

She had said some other things, as well, as she’d continued to speak. And I had said some things of my own, too. We had a conversation, so. And what I’d found, is that, no matter what I chose to say, she was always better in some significant way just to hear it. Every time that I spoke. She had just needed someone, was all; someone to talk to–a human being. That was it. I was just the first person she saw. She had gotten the call on her phone only moments before approaching me. I could have been anyone. Any person. And I could have said anything–with just a decent heart, I could–I could have said anything.

I felt like an ass, pretty quickly, for having questioned the value behind the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ in those moments when I did. That’s one lesson taught; though it did take me a while, to not only learn it, as in to realize it, but to actually know it, as in to act it. There was a distinction, I had found, but it was not something which I was able to think my way to reach; I had to live it to find it. And I should have given her that hug, too. Two years ago.