Dinner with a stranger

I’ve always been tormented by the thought that I may die in a strange or embarrassing way. Just about every moment in my life was ruled with the consciousness of this concern, and therefore I’ve never extended myself enough to be put in such a predicament. For example, I deleted my twitter app because it eventually became flooded with so many porn accounts. Imagine if I was scrolling through my phone, only to have a heart attack and accidentally open the app. Picture, if you will, my lifeless body discovered next to whatever smut happened to be on tap that day, displayed for everyone to see. Also, I’ve never ever skipped laundry day. What if I was in a hurry and threw on some already worn under garment and then perhaps got into a car accident. What would the paramedics say? No doubt they would judge me by the cleanliness of my underpants. No, I would not wish this on anyone, so I’ve chosen to live a modest and reserved life. Some may say a “boring” life, but they’re usually the ones who expire while sitting on the toilet or other such mortifying scenarios.

I don’t take risks, I don’t consort with those that live on the edge, and everything is planned, as I never leave things up to chance. Traveling is verboten, whether by train, plane or boat. And while I do drive, I strictly limit it. It’s quite exhausting to be honest, but I deem it necessary. Love is the biggest risk of them all. One could die from a broken heart, kinky asphyxiation, or God forbid, a venereal disease. How positively humiliating.

One day, my weekly scheduled grocery delivery was inexplicably canceled. After a daunting and frustrating phone call to the company that provides this service yielded no answers, I decided ultimately to take the chance and drive to the grocery store myself. Upon the completion of an almost unconvincing pep talk to myself in the parking lot of said grocery store, I managed to finally exit my car and enter the store. Having almost convinced myself several times to just turn around and go back home, I realized how bad my agoraphobia had become.

The hot sting I felt in my ears as I find it hard to focus on the items on the shelves has just been something I’ve learned to deal with. The inability to speak a coherent sentence is something I have never quite been okay with. So, when a little black notebook, that had been folded and tucked into this man’s back pocket, decided to leap out before me. The burning of my ears intensified as I struggled to muster the words to alert this man of his lost book. Only pathetic croaking sounds managed to escape from me. Disappointed in my social ineptitude, I finally reached for the book and left my empty shopping cart to find its rightful owner.

Scanning the aisles, I tried to remind myself of what he looked like. He looked like a man, just like any other man at that store at that time, and probably any other time and day as well, for that matter. But I did manage to find him based on his salmon-colored cap. When I approached him, he was intently studying and comparing nutrition labels. He was so handsome up close that I stopped to study him as he eyed the labels, not even realizing that he would notice me standing there (as I feel invisible most of the time). I suppose he felt the burn of my laser stare into him and so he turned to face me. Lacking any sort of social grace, I froze in my stance, unsure of what to say.

“Hi?” He said, almost as if he was asking a question.

“Um, you dropped this,” I managed to finally say, holding up the notebook.

“Oh wow, thank you so much!” His face brightened noticeably as he reached for the book. His hand brushed against mine and the strangest most exhilarating charge of electricity shot through my body. I’m good at ignoring things, so I chalked this up to being my first human contact in a very long time.

“What is it?” I cringed as I said this. Seems the electric shock had made me bolder.

“What is what? Oh, the notebook!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I asked that. It’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay, really. It’s a journal, of sorts. Kind of. It’s my bucket list.”

“You carry that around with you?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “I’m coming up on my one-year anniversary of being in remission from cancer. Any free time that I get, I look at the book to find my next adventure.”

In that moment, as people passed by us in the canned goods aisle of the grocery store, I felt an immense sadness for someone other than myself; only he seemed to be in far better spirits than I would have been at any given moment before that day.

“Hey, wait a second,” he flipped through the pages, “There, have dinner with a stranger.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not quite climbing Mount Everest, but it’s on the list. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Despite my constant need to be in control, I did have dinner with him at his place that night. Maybe my naivety was showing, but he exuded a trustworthiness that was hard to ignore. His name was Adam, and he was the most brilliant and carefree person I’ve ever known. A complete antithesis to me. My anxieties caused me to push a lot of people away and become more reclusive over the years, but in that first night with Adam, I felt closer to him than I had ever felt with anyone else. He shared with me his lust for life, and in return I purge my fear of living.

“What do you think made you so hyper cautious?” Adam asked me.

“Honestly, I’m not even sure. But it’s been crippling, to say the least. I fear death, but more than that, I fear a dishonorable death.”

“The only dishonor you’re at risk of is wasting the life you’ve been given,” he paused, “Do this with me, won’t you?”

“Do what, exactly?”

Adam stood from the table and left the room. When he returned, he was holding the little black book. He thumbed through the pages for a moment.

“Help me complete my bucket list. I have a ton of money saved up.”

“Haven’t you been in remission for a year?” I asked.

“That doesn’t mean I should give up. You never know what tomorrow holds.”

The next day I found myself falling from the sky with a complete stranger strapped to my back. I never would have entertained the thought of skydiving in my past. In fact, it had never crossed my mind, but if it had, I’m sure I would’ve had a quick rejection to the idea. Adam went first and so I felt that I was left with no choice. The initial jump caused every muscle in my body to tense as I shut my eyes against the wind. Once my stomach returned to me, I was able to open them again. Now in free fall, I was overcome with euphoria. I let go of trying to control the situation, my arms flew out at my sides as the wind whipped at my face and I let it happen. Adam greeted me on the ground with an enthusiastic wail and a firm embrace.

Over the next year, Adam and I went on many adventures together. Most of the tasks on his list were adrenaline inducing; white water rafting, bungee jumping and race-car driving, to name a few. However, there were quiet and reflective moments as well. We hiked to the tops of tall cliffs, had a picnic in the park and even went to a drive-in movie - which I had actually never done before.

Adam had a way about him that made me feel brave and that I could conquer anything. I no longer feared death because I knew that taking my health for granted would be an injustice to those who were actually less fortunate than I. I’m sure that someone unable to complete simple tasks would prefer to switch places with me if given the opportunity, so why should I waste what I have?

Adam’s cancer came back after nearly two years in remission. As he lay in that hospital bed, still looking as beautiful as he once had, I knew that he felt accomplished. The pride I felt, knowing that I had also helped him reach his goals filled me with a warmth that I would probably never feel again. Adam took my hand in his, trying to avoid snagging his IV.

“I have twenty thousand dollars left, stashed in my kitchen cabinet,” He spoke, “I want you to take it and finish out my bucket list.”

“Adam, I can’t,” I cried, “You’re going to be fine.”

Ignoring me, he continued, “And please add to the list. There’s got to be something you’ve always wanted to do.”

He passed the next day. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in my life. Not only was I crying because I would forever miss his kindness, his spirit for adventure and his comforting face, but also, I was so grateful to him. Grateful that I met him and grateful that he broke me out of my own prison. Adam taught me that living doesn’t always have to mean jumping out of an airplane, but to, at the very least, enjoy every moment as if it were your last. I carry on with my own life because of him.

This man managed to somehow stitch himself into the fabric of my being that day in the grocery store. He sought out the tiniest crack and embedded himself within it. When I look back upon it, I can’t even make sense of how that awkward encounter, surrounded by canned beans turned into what it would eventually become. I finally made my way over to Adam’s house and claimed the twenty thousand dollars stashed in his kitchen. On the nearby counter rested Adam’s little black book. I read through the expansive bucket list... Never did I find “Have dinner with a stranger” written upon its pages.