Three Words

"How are you?"

[These aren't real people or scenarios]

#1
Sarah stumbles out of bed. Sometimes "sleeping on it" doesn't make any difference at all. Her thoughts are just as scrambled as the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Times of clarity and peace of mind are fuzzed in the back of her brain. But Sarah couldn't care less about her mind's inner workings right now. Her heart hurts. She knows she has truths to sort out in her mind, and she will get to this task. All in due time. Right now, she doesn't think. She feels.

Sarah steps into her first class of the day. She inhales deeply and exhales gradually as she searches for an open seat. She finds one in the back, and sits down. For the next 50 minutes, she lets the professor's hollow words float over her tangled hair. Sarah's not really there. Flurries of feelings furrow her brow, weigh down on her chest, melt her into the dirty floor.

As if cotton is being pulled out of her ears, Sarah slowly re-enters reality. "Alright, that's it for today," her professor rambles. As the rest of the students jump like jack-rabbits out of their seats, Sarah slowly makes her way to the door.

"Oh hey, Sarah! How are you?" It's a familiar face, one from a study group last semester.

"Good. How are you?" Sarah's lip quivers for a second, but the familiar face doesn't see.

"I'm great. Gotta get to class. See ya!"

And they go on with life.

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#2
Steven struggles to smile. It's picture day. All the other first graders seem to be enjoying themselves. They flirt innocently, tease playfully, converse meaninglessly. They are carefree and content; they are currently oblivious to the evils and misfortunes which life will later present them. Steven recalls times that he felt as blissfully oblivious and carefree as his peers did. He yearns for regression; he wishes he knew less about the world than he now does. Unfortunately, this option is unavailable.

Steven wonders how it is at home for the other kids. He wonders if the walls are as thin at their houses. He wonders if their moms patiently endure as their dads yell and yell and yell. He wonders if the other kids can see the secret tears that mom lets fall when she thinks no one is looking. He wonders if the other kids can tell that mom and dad are only pretending to be happy for them when they do family things together. Like when they go to Denny's and all they talk about is how the weather's getting colder and "We really do need to buy you a new jacket, Stevie" and how dad's missing his game on TV and then a whisper about how dad needs to be more involved in his son's life and "That's great that you got an A on your spelling test, honey" and then more whispered angry arguing.

Steven wonders if the other kids' parents are still together. Or if, the morning of picture day, their moms slicked their hair for them, gave them a crooked smile, said "I love you, baby," and tried to conceal her tears as she walked away, towards a big stack of papers on the kitchen table. Steven wonders if the other kids asked their moms what the papers meant, and if she said that the papers meant she and dad wouldn't be she and dad anymore.

"Hey! It's your turn, kid. Kid!" An impatient photographer's yell brings Steven back to here and now.

Steven takes a seat on the stone-hard stool and positions himself to be photographed.

The photographer comes close to adjust his chin's angle.
"How are you?" The photographer feels obligated to ask.

"Good." Steven's little lips manage to mutter this one lonely word.

"Great. Smile!"

FLASH.

And they go on with life.

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#3
Sadie shops for groceries. It's a normal thing to do. So why does it feel so strange and inconceivably inappropriate now? It's been 6 weeks. Jacob's dead Jacob's dead Jacob's dead. She has come to accept that. She should be able to live life like a normal human being now. Shouldn't she?

She can't think about this. Not here, not now. She realizes her hand has gone numb from extended contact with a bag of frozen vegetables; her fingers refuse to loosen their grip. When did she pick those up? How long has she been holding them? These questions float in and out of her mind as she tries to focus on the task at hand: buying her groceries.

All she came for was eggs, milk, and peaches. Eggs milk peaches eggs milk peaches eggs milk peaches. Focus. She replays the mantra in her head: eggsmilkpeacheseggsmilkpeaches...She nearly succeeds in numbing her mind when a woman in her late 60's approaches her.

"I'm so sorry to bug you dear, but I can't reach that loaf of bread for the life of me. Can you help me out?"

"Yeah sure." Sadie places the bread in the elderly woman's cart.

"How are you today?" The woman seems sincere enough, but Sadie doesn't want to be honest right now.

"Good. You?" Sadie says these simple words with a feigned smile and empty eyes.

The woman looks at Sadie's eyes tenderly.
"How are you?" The woman persists.

Sadie looks back at her with eyes full of pain and gratitude.

A single tear drop falls.