vellichor

For Betty.

Betty’s hands moved in a way that showed she’s learned not to rush–

The scanner

The bag

The receipt–

Folded over and offered up

Like something she was proud of.

“there’s a QR code,” she said

“if you get a chance,

Mention my name.”

Her head did a small, involuntary thing

And her shoulders held a history that I didn’t ask about

And she didn’t offer

And the fluorescent lights didn’t care either way.

I drove back to the hotel thinking

What if we all had one

A little black square

Printed somewhere on the body

Scannable

Say the back of the neck

or the wrist

Somewhere you’d notice if you were paying attention

What a market that would be for the anonymous review

The five Star Glow of a stranger

You held the door for once

Back in 2019.

A two-star screed from your ex

Posted from her sectional at 11:00 p.m. on a Tuesday

A woman who can’t taste the joy in life

For the bitterness in her heart.

We would curate ourselves differently

I think about apologies that I never made

The one sitting there in the “drafts” folder

Time stamps like accusations.

I think about Betty

Who, like the rest of us

Has probably been reviewed a hundred times or more by God

Or whatever keeps the ledger

And still shows up

Still folds the receipt

Still says “mention my name.”

As if she believes

Someone is out there

Reading every last line of her story.