There was a girl I once knew in high school. She was a beautiful spirit. The kind of person who would cheer you up, when you were down. Her name was Marie.

That was four years ago. Upon a visit to my old hometown, I just happened to run into her. She was working for my father as a secretary. But when I first saw her, I did not recognize her. Her smile was gone, her face had rounded out, her hair, which had once fell long and full, was tied back carelessly and she was wearing a black and unwashed over-sized t-shirt. Her spirit was all dried up.

I sat down and spoke with her briefly. “So how’ve you been?” I asked.

A note I found in the back of my high school year book.

“Oh, ya know, just working.”

“So, your with…uh… Keller, right?”

“Yea.”

“Great,” I said having nothing better to say.

“Not that great,” she blurted.

I stumble, I nod my head like an idiot. I don’t know how to respond, I want to console her, but instead I change the subject: “Well, what else have you been up to?”

“We moved out to Denver for a while, cuz Mark wanted to try college. But he hated it, so we moved back.”

I’m afraid to ask another question. I feel like this casual meeting has become an interrogation, a rude exposé. But she continues anyway without my prompt, as if to confirm her utter sorrow.

“Married. … Two kids. … yea.”

And there it was everything bared, in sincere dejection, yet without shame and without embarrassment.

God. What frustration. What sadness. What’s a man to do? I feel just as helpless as her, and I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do. God. I wish I could ride in on a white stallion, rescue her in my arms, and gallop of into the sunset to some place where people would treat her the way she deserves to be treated. But there is no such place. And alas, I’m a homosexual. And while I’d still be there for her, I cannot give her myself and I cannot give her the love she deserves.

As I ride home across the Colorado passes on two wheels, wind in my ears, my mind replays the scene. I’m angry at the world for stripping away her spirit. No, I’m not angry at the world. I’m angry at the failure of my community. High school taught us nothing of how to deal with this. I’m angry at my father for paying her something just above minimum wage to work for him. I’m angry at him for not caring about her, beyond the fact that she shows up on time. I’m angry at her husband for consuming her beauty. I’m angry at all those around her who could allow this to happen. And I’m angry at myself for being able to do nothing.

I came home and found her picture in the yearbook. There’s that genuine smile. There’s the sparkle in her eyes. There’s the lively girl I once knew. And as I flipped to the end of the book I see a note written in silver marker. It read: “You are the funniest smart kid I know. Remember life is short so smile. You are just sooo cute. -Marie.”

Addendum [October 12, 2008]:After a conversation with my dear aunt in regard to this article, I would like to make a few clarifications. Namely, that I realize there are compassionate souls like my aunt who take the initiative to help people like Marie. But I would like to stress, that there is really only so much a person can do in a working relationship. Marie’s problems extend far outside of work, yet if personal problems disrupt work, Marie risks being fired.

We tend to place the blame squarely on the individual, but no one benefits from that mind set. In all reality, anyone else in her shoes would have no more decision than she has now. Life is tough, and it’s difficult to go it alone. That is why community is important. If Marie really had a close community, Marie’s sadness would be everyone’s sadness. So naturally everyone would want to help her. But as Marie’s story proves, the crucial supportive framework know as the community is being broken down, and it is partly the professionalism and boundaries of the work environment that is causing its ruin. Now, my father is a business owner, and I’m not saying business is bad, but I’m saying that community needs to come before business.

Author’s Note: Due to the sensitive nature of this article, the actual names of the people mentioned above have been substituted with false names. I am reluctant to do this as I believe we just waste each other’s time by protecting false images of each other’s lives. But in this case, I will defer.

Tags: business