Tiny Bits of Kindness

I walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus to take me to Benihana where I would be meeting three of my girlfriends for dinner. We had planned the dinner months ago, with Benihana having a celebratory effect on us all. We had traded cute emails about how excited we were to order Rocky’s Choice, or to get that first taste of soy sauce. And for the salad with that special dressing. I also happened to think that Benihana had the best Green Tea ice cream I had ever tasted.

I called one of my friends. I wasn’t sure I could make it.

She was her soft, kind self. She offered to reschedule. She offered for us to just order in.

“No,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for Benihana for a month. I’m just calling to warn you and the troops that I’m not doing very well.” She was soft and told me not to worry. It felt good to do this lately, warn people when I felt like a wreck so that they could prepare or opt out before I did. Then a large African-American man pulled up in a Nissan 300x with the T-top off. He had an eighties Mohawk, smoked a cigarette and was blasting Lionel Ritchie’s “Penny Lover”. It made me smile and realized that I had to be able to tell this scene to one of my friends I was meeting.

I got to the restaurant before them and ordered a glass of red wine (though I haven’t been drinking lately as it usually just makes me feel more depressed than I may or may not be). They came in happy and buzzing from their earlier rendezvous with their own wine. We went to the community table awaiting our succulent shrimp and smoking onion volcano trick by the chef. All of the Benihana chefs are now Latino, a change from the Japanese chefs from ten years ago (many of us have been going to Benihana or restaurants since we were little). So we cracked jokes, calling our table chef “Alejandro-san”. I was laughing within moments, and it wasn’t because of the one glass of wine.

My friends, one-on-one, have been there for me to talk about the suicide. Some have been amazing, while others have, at times, disappointed me with their ignorance. But for the most part they have been great big ears for listening and thumping hearts that care. And many times, like life, they have surprised me.

This was one of those times.

One of my friends said, “Is it time to give Sasya our presents?” And they all giggled like little girls and shuffled into their pockets and purses. “Yes!” the other two chimed in unison.

“What?” Since one of the friend’s birthdays was next week, I didn’t understand. “Why me?”

“Sit here.” They moved me around to be in the middle of them. I looked around at the hundred or so people now filling the community tables at a very public Benihana.

My first friend took the humorous, yet sweet, approach, and read from a piece of paper.

Haiku for Sasya

An old friend of mine