The Person Next to You in Line by Cynthia Davis

Art by Angelica Frausto nerdybrownkid.com

By Cynthia Davis

I was standing in line at the Post Office in Plymouth, Indiana, sometime ago, in a long line of people. There was a woman in front of me and a man behind me. Behind him were several more people. The woman at the counter was trying to buy a money order. She was Hispanic and barely tall enough to reach the counter. She didn’t speak any English, and the clerk didn’t speak any Spanish. He was trying to tell her that she lacked enough money for the money order. But she could not understand what he was saying. I heard him say something like “One dollar and ninety-one cents. Not enough.” She was trying to understand and reply.

The woman ahead of me was watching and listening intently. I began to dig around in my purse. I happened to glance behind me. The man had his hand in his pocket and pulled out some bills. I glanced again. He was holding the bills beside his hip, half-hidden. In his posture I read that he wasn’t sure what to do but he was ready.

As the back and forth between the woman at the counter and the clerk continued, the woman in front of me took several steps forward, as if to help. Suddenly the clerk said, “I’m sorry. I had it wrong.” The woman in front took several steps back.

Quickly the Hispanic woman signed the papers and headed toward the door. The woman ahead of me advanced toward the counter. But she turned around to the room and said, waving her hand and shrugging, “It’s happened to all of us.” The wave of her hand seemed to dismiss the incident. Her gracious “it’s no big deal” radiated out to everyone.

The Hispanic woman didn’t know what had happened in the Post Office that day. I didn’t know the woman ahead of me. I didn’t know the man behind me or people behind him. I didn’t know the clerk. But each of us was next to someone. And none of us were strangers.