small stories

Episode 1:

Man A says to Woman B, “It is interesting to see how men and women respond differently to women”.

Woman B responds, “Uh, what do you mean?”

Man A says, “Both you, and Woman C are good-looking enough, it’s interesting to walk down the street with you and see how people look at you when we walk by.

“I try not to notice”

“Isn’t it a compliment? it means they see that you are beautiful.”

“It can be…I guess, but there is nothing more uncomfortable than walking by a group of guys on the sidewalk, because you know they are looking at you. It’s invasive. I keep my head up, my eyes forward, and walk fast.”

“Hmmm.”

Episode 2:

Woman Z sees Man X direct Homeless Man Y away from the front of the building, “You can not panhandle here.”

Woman Z wonders on this, the guard is just doing his job, but it sucks to be the homeless man. Where are the fields he can glean from?

Woman Z walks outside the building, Panhandler Y approaches her at the crosswalk as she waits to cross the street.

“I have no money, but you may have my orange” She holds out the piece of brightly colored fruit. She wants the orange, but she has already eaten 2 today, and she has more at home.

Panhandler Y, looks at the fruit, looks her up and down, and mutters obscenities not under his breath but its hard to be clear of what he is saying, “you want to go somewhere, we can have fun.” His eyes scan up and down her body, as if she is a barcode.

“No,” She crosses the street.

“Maybe later tonight…” He calls in a louder voice.

She doesn’t look back. It takes a minute for the violation to fully massage its way into her understanding. “I was just offering a beautiful orange, I felt sorry for him because the guard shooed him away because he is not wanted by society.” She rips the skin of the orange she had offered him, chews and swallows each juicy morsel.

Perhaps this has nothing to do with beauty. This is lack of beauty. This is aliens sculpting with life to imitate beauty that they’ve never seen. It is thirsty men drinking the sand in the desert. It is ridiculous. It is on my skin. It is a scavenger in a musty basement trying to breathe. It is children making themselves believe every noise they hear at night is a ghost haunting them. I am not okay with it. But I am trying to live in a different reality, where beauty is beautiful and it is not put to shame.

Snapshot 1:

Jesus was reclining at the table in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head. She had carried this expensive jar a long way, through bad neighborhood just to do this thing. She had wanted to do something for this man who gave her everything, yet to whom she could give nothing. This jar was all she had. It had been passed down from her great grandparents. It was to be her dowry. It was the only worthwhile possession she had. It was the only that kept her out of the poorhouse. It only made sense to give this Jesus. He was the only thing worthy of pouring. What was the point in saving she thought to herself. Who knows what tomorrow may bring. But today, today, I can honor Jesus.

She took no notice of the men who she knew would be scoffing at her. She, with her tears and hair and nard paid attention only to Jesus.

The men at the table who had been eating with Jesus were saying indignantly to one another, "Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year's wages and the money given to the poor." And they rebuked her harshly.

“Leave her alone," said Jesus. "Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her."