Word After Word

Wearing her Applebees uniform, she walked into the cell phone store, where Chad was slowly, sweetly, calmly explaining to me some fast features of the 21^st century and she said, “Dr. Sellers, hey I don’t know if you remember me.”  I read her name tag and listened to her voice and I said, “Of course I do. Stained couch, shag carpet, whole family laughing in the kitchen.” I could remember her essay, image by image, and her poems, too. “It is great to see you. You’re such a fabulous writer.” She told me how great my class was, how she missed it, and how she missed the other students. She complimented my teaching and I looked at my friend, who knew what I was thinking: I want to remember this moment, this true regard between us. Monica was already a great writer when she came into the class; she felt like she learned a lot, and that makes me beam but I doubt I have too much to do with it. She landed in a room (my classroom) where this thing she does really well, and cares about a lot, is highly valued.

We talked a little bit about her new classes and how polite everyone in West Michigan is and how we want to tell the truth so badly. And then Monica said, “But what are you doing here? You said you would never get a cell phone. You always told us that.” My friends intervened, I told her. And now I was standing on the precipice. It occurred to me, finally, I could try technology in my home, and if I hated it, I could actually get rid of it. Wireless and the cell phone could be an interesting intentional experiment. Maybe there will be parts that will add. Maybe this new process is not an abdication of my values.

“Be careful,” Monica said as she turned to a display of shining gadgets. “You’ll never go back.”

It was like I met up with a truth-telling angel in the ATT store. It was very comforting.