Letters to a Stranger #1
Dear Joseph,
Your name is one that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. It is the name of the man, you, who put my passport order in, a high honor to me. You were slightly shorter than me, with skin just as brown if not more, and an Indian accent that birthed my suspicion of your foreignness to Atlanta. Your face remained covered by a mask as you spoke to me with muffled words, guiding me along the way. My curiosity for the world had projected onto you; I wanted to know more about you.
“Have you ever been out of the country?” I asked. Probing, yes, out of curiosity to divert from assumptions, but also to confirm my suspicions.
“Yes, I have,” you replied, somehow landing in the middle of answering my question yet not answering my intention.
“What’s your favorite place you’ve been to?”
You answered me with a string of places, none of them your single favorite, but all clearly holding meaning to you. I wondered if I’d end up with a similar frame of mind. I couldn’t recall your list even if I tried as I missed some of what you said to your mask, but you could, every one of them a clear image in your mind. I wanted a list of places too. As you talked, recalling your memories, you began to open up more, proceeding to tell me where you were from, why you moved, and where your daughter lived. Your daughter felt the heaviest when mentioned and I sympathized. There is nothing like missing loved ones who are so far away.
“Where in Ohio are you from,” you asked, politely probing back. If you didn’t have my birth certificate and driver’s license in front of you, I would have felt uneasy with you knowing that I also carried the title of “foreigner” in Atlanta. When I first moved here, I had convinced myself that people would take advantage of me if they knew I came from somewhere else, even if that somewhere else resided only a few states away. But, with the fresh mindset of a traveler and after having my questions answered, I let go of that worry.
“Dayton, by Cincinnati,” I replied, you nodding along once I mentioned the closest major city for reference. I eyed you as you nodded and then I kept going. “I’m the first one in my family to do this. My aunt had the military but no one has really gone alone to just travel so…”
There’s something about the moment when a stranger sees you—past your guard, through the stress of their life, and fully attentive to you. Maybe you developed this look by raising a child: the look of a knowing father seeing something that isn’t spoken on. Maybe it came from having multiple siblings or through being seen by a stranger yourself. Nonetheless, you looked up at me from the paperwork and sat in that reality with me, silently, as if there were no words to bring comfort to or inspire the fresh from-college 23-year-old in front of you.
I thought about asking you about your first time traveling internationally. What had it been like when the world suddenly became so easily accessible? How did you handle having everything at your fingertips? Where did you go first and why? What did you learn and how did it change the way you viewed life? Everyone who travels always talks about how it changed the way they view things and I so desperately wanted to know what they meant.
Before I could blurt out any of my rampant thoughts, you stamped my paperwork. “Where do you plan to travel to,” you continued.
“Hopefully everywhere,” I laughed. You chuckled along with me. “But, I have a friend in Germany I’m hoping to visit.” You nodded along.
“I just need your signature after I read this out loud to you.”
“Okay.”
For the first time in our short interaction, I saw your face. You pulled your mask down, revealing a beard that shadowed smile lines. You had teeth that were slightly crooked, though the only reason I knew that is due to you not attempting to hide them. Seeing your whole face, I saw a man with eyes that seemed to say “I’m listening” and wrinkles that said, “I’m loving.” You read out loud the final section proudly as if giving me a blessing. I signed, gladly accepting.
You walked me out to pay for everything, explaining to me the fastest way to do this. Our interaction had come to an end. Then I realized, I didn’t know your name. You were standing here in front of me after opening up the gate that has felt locked for so long and I didn’t even know your name. At first, I thought to ask but as I looked up from the debit card keypad, I spotted your name tag. Joseph.
Joseph, the man with listening eyes and loving smile lines, unlocked the gate to leave this country that has often felt more like a cage than not. You gave me the power that my family has barely had, changing the trajectory of my lineage in ways I’m sure only a parent could understand.
Joseph, thank you.
Sincerely,
KeShawn
