Lumar

The Chinese take-out place is a store in a shopping center near my house. It has been there as long as I can remember. I’ve gotten to know the faces of the people who work there and until recently they never seemed to age, but I’m slowly seeing lines appear on faces where lines didn’t exist before. They must think the same thing about me.

The woman who answers the phone and works the register speaks heavily accented English so that I’m just able to understand her. We are always very friendly and she knows me by name. I asked her name once and she told me, but I forgot it. Sometimes we are more friendly than others. When I used to come in by myself she would ask how my Mom was. Now she asks how my fiancé is.

She is always there when I am, an ever-present always working part of my life. I’ve never seen her outside of the store, but I can’t imagine her as not being a part of my life. She has made my dinner at least once a week for most of my life. That means that she has made my dinner more than I’ve made it for myself. If she disappeared I would miss her, but I doubt that I'll ever have a conversation with her about anything other than Chinese food or the weather. She is very good at her job and meticulous when it comes to ordering. She’s not demanding, but she means business and gets the job done and she gets it done well.

I’ll never forget the only day she ever seemed different. I don’t remember if I was with anyone or what I ordered, but I remember that she had an extra bounce in her step and her smile was ear to ear. I wondered why and she told me, everybody else in line, and probably anybody that would listen. She had fought hard and now her boss gave her two days off a week. I don’t remember which two days they were, but they were during the week and not weekends. She only got off one of those days before. It might have been Monday and Tuesday.

Maybe it’s because I don’t enjoy being at work, maybe it’s because she works harder than I ever have, maybe it’s because she made me feel too rich, but I felt guilty. What made her happiest is what I take for granted. She never had those days that I waste and think I deserve off for no other reason than that I am alive. Now, after two decades of serving my Chinese food, after serving me my dinner for twenty years, she is finally entitled to two days off a week. Who the fuck am I?

Does she have a family? Children? How much does she get paid to work at the Chinese take-out place? Are there people that she wants to share the weekends with? Are there people that she’s torn away from on Saturday and Sunday morning so that she can take my order for a General Tso’s combination platter?

Maybe the heart of all these questions is this: Why do I get so sad when confronted with people who get so excited about the things I take for granted?