100 Years

Did you ever see the Mel Gibson movie What Women Want? Remember the painfully shy girl who wandered through each day, sad, thinking constantly about how little she mattered to everyone else? She wonders how long it would take for her co-workers to notice if she didn’t shown up for work one day, or if they would notice. Once Mel Gibson’s character begins to “hear” her thoughts, he tries to help her, but he’s generally too consumed with Helen Hunt, with his own life, to do much about it.

But one day, she doesn’t show up for work, and, as she predicted, no one really notices – except, finally, him. Then he rushes to her house to save her, this extraordinarily sad girl who feels invisible and sometimes thinks she might as well go ahead and finish the job.

I know someone who reminds me of this girl. He’s quiet, keeps to himself, doesn’t do too much interacting. And I’m not saying this to be morbid, but sometimes I fear this same fate for him. One day he just won’t show up and, at first, no one will really notice. Maybe it will be on a Friday and everyone will think he’s out of town for the weekend. Come Monday, he’s just recovering from the weekend. Until enough days pass and finally it becomes clear that he isn’t ever coming back. And I’ll be the only one who knew all along exactly what was going to happen, and I’ll worry about what I possibly could have done to prevent it.

I’m not trying to be morbid. It’s just that I recognize that look in his eyes, the one we probably all have or have had at one point or another. His is just more constant.

I happened to be talking to him recently and mentioned that my great aunt is turning 99 this weekend. He filled up a cup of water then, as he turned to leave, said, “That’s great. I hope I’m that way.”

As I watched him leave, I felt an enormous sense of relief.