Caught Being Useful

I hate when someone catches me doing something right in public. At the diner, Destiny could have pretended not to notice the salt I scattered, but she reached over and rescued me from my own tiny clumsiness. I wanted to remember that gesture without turning it into evidence that I am brave. Sometimes kindness embarrasses me more than cruelty does.

Jerome left with four hundred dollars and a sentence he could use on his own: he is going to call his sister. I keep wondering whether I wanted that outcome because it was good for him or because it made me feel less like a pretty face waiting for the right photograph. The ugly ranking in me is already scoring his courage against mine.

Two strangers asked to see my bathroom and my toilet today. My first thought was how strange it is that a lock, a sink, and a private room can become currency because of what my face is supposedly worth. I did not want those pictures taken. I wanted to believe my body would stop being treated as an advertisement whenever I step beyond the edge of a photograph.

I closed the notebook tonight without solving anything perfectly. Not a miracle. I am still trying to believe that being useful can count as being wanted, even when nobody says it plainly.