About the bitterness in the throat.

The day before yesterday, I was feeling off.
Without doing anything myself, I felt guilty.
Waiting at a red light, another car “tapped” me.
I press the hazard lights and step out into the middle of the busy street.
Cold.
Rain soaking through linen.
A biting wind blowing.
Around me, the cars hum impatiently.

Behind me, a tiny car with a disabled sticker on the window stops.
Dented like a craft bag, all scratched up so you can’t tell which scratch belongs to this recent bump and which is as old as life itself.
An older man gets out of the well-lived-in car, hazard lights on.
Nervous but calm.
He crouches by my car, inspecting the damage.
To my female eyes, nothing too serious.
Only some part has fallen off, which I don’t even know where it belongs.
I notice his hand running along the back of my car, the same hand with catheter marks patched with gauze and tape.

“Were you coming from Santariškės?” I ask.
He nods:
“They just let me out today.”

I stand in the middle of the street, watching the man stroking the back of my car, looking at his little car.
I see his eyes, giving me a “no big deal” look, and I feel the urge to wish him a calm day, good health, and for us to part ways.
But I know I can’t. I know nothing about cars. I have no idea what part has fallen to the ground…
I resist my urge to suggest parting ways and call my husband.
While waiting for him to arrive… a passing police car with flashing lights shows up.
It’s a full-blown scene. Out of nowhere.

I return home, having done nothing,
But with a lump in my throat.
All evening, it “didn’t drink” or “get eaten,”
Even brushing my teeth with toothpaste doesn’t make it go away.

Carrying that lump in my throat, trying to fall asleep, I remembered a family we helped before Christmas.
Wishing them happy holidays and leaving them happier, we agreed that if they ever got a winter coat, they should let us know.
During all this time, no coat came.
I only received a notification on December 25 with a sincere holiday greeting.
Today, I picked up the phone and decided to call to check how they were doing.

“By now, you should already have your benefit; that will be good,” I heard.
“And now?” I asked.
There was silence on the phone.
I safely held the leftover money you donated since Christmas in a box.
I didn’t want to be a one-time “Santa,” leaving a bag and driving off until next year. Or forever.
I didn’t want to meet them and then forget.

I didn’t forget.
After the silence, I sent money with the note: “For a hearty dinner.”
And I felt that only now that strange “bitterness” in my throat went away.

Lessons in sensitivity float in the air.
I thanked wise fate for the delivered bitterness
And the memory that fluttered in my heart.
For someone, yesterday evening was better and fuller than the one before.

Small things. Big feelings.

V.