Grace in the Oddest Places

I was sitting on the floor, sandwich wrapper splayed out flat in front of me. The lettuce shreds fought a valiant fight, but most of them now lay helter skelter across the paper spilling onto the floor, discarded sandwich scrapnel. I dug under a tomato to get to the last remaining piece of cheese, pressed into the bread by the weight of the sandwich so that it left a triangle indentation when I pulled it up.

“That’s what I like about you,” she said, looking at me earnestly and grinning. “You always pull the cheese off when you’re done with your sandwich, instead of the meat.” She beamed. She was a vegetarian. Had been for years already. She bought me the sandwich with her meal plan points, which she had to blow through by the end of the semester. It’s hard to eat that many sandwiches by yourself apparently.

I felt a flood of warmth pulse through my chest. It wasn’t about the cheese, although it was true that cheese was my favorite mode of sustenance. It was that she’d seen me, just for a second. She’d noticed some small, seemingly insignificant thing about me–and she liked it. And, even more miraculous, I could let her like it, without that cold, tight fear starting in my heart and seeping slowly down into my fingertips.

Maybe, just maybe, I even wanted her to see me.

I was drawn to her like breath. My heart was laid bare every time I was near her, even if she didn’t know it yet. Who has words for that at 18 years old?

That kind of belonging, without condition, lush with love and acceptance, when you’ve been fighting an internal war that’s left you emotionally bedraggled and just about half-dead… well, it’s a gift. It’s grace.

And sure, the first time she ever told me she cared may have been over a piece of cheese. But, my god, the sheer magic of finding the person who calls you out of yourself and into the world when you were sure, so sure, that at your core you were destined to be alone and misunderstood forever (18 is full of BIG feelings, and absolutes, and existential drama)…

Her seeing gave me solid footing. It felt like hope. It made things possible and expansive and intoxicatingly joyful.

That piece of cheese broke open the whole world for me.

Photo by Wyron A on Unsplash

Author: Kendra Lee

I am smitten with Atlanta. I believe Black Lives Matter. I care deeply about housing justice, education, and transportation. I am a huge MARTA fan. I've got the most adorable second grader, an incorrigible Boxer named Delilah, and a pretty amazing husband named Simon. I've been sober for 9+ years. I heart coffee. On any given day I may write about all--or none--of those things.

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