Filled with Fragrance

12 Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. ² Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. ³ Then Mary took about a pint^[a] of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

⁴ But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, ⁵ “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.^[b]” ⁶ He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.

⁷ “Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. “It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. ⁸ You will always have the poor among you,^[c] but you will not always have me.”

⁹ Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ¹⁰ So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, ¹¹ for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and believing in him.

– John 12: 1-11

            I am in a Starbucks on Main and Liberty trying to read, and then eventually write about L.M. Montgomery’s Emily Climbs. Emily, the main character has just left home for what sounds like a kind of boarding school, one she wants to attend with the same kind of whimsical passion Anne of Green Gables wants a kindred spirit. Emily’s Aunt Elizabeth says she’ll pay for her schooling but she must give up writing. Emily says absolutely not. Elizabeth says fine then you must only write what is true. For the rest of Emily’s life, she must only write what is true. Do this, and she may get an education.

            Emily agrees and she is now in the place she’s dreamt of going and she hates it. It’s a dark and scary place with its new rules of being. She wants to go home.

            This Starbucks is not the place I want to be, either. My first choice was Comet Coffee, but it was packed. Lab, around the corner was packed, too. Further down Liberty Roos Roast is closed, Bakehouse 46 was busy, I don’t like the coffee at Avalon, and while Shinola has the hippest most glorious coffee shop in its basement, I feel stupid walking inside because I’m not there to buy a very expensive watch – just a very expensive coffee.

            So Starbucks it is, and by the time I’m settled in at the bar facing the window, I am more than annoyed. I cannot afford time looking for a place to sit in a coffee shop. I have 90 minutes to write today, and 10 of them have been spent searching for a place to go, which means that another 10 will be spent walking back, which leaves me with 70 minutes. Most likely, 40 of those minutes will be spent staring out the window. Finding the time and space to write is quite literally the story of my life, and the plot is exhausting and relentless.

            Two guys walk inside the shop. They’re talking about roses. They want to buy them cheap so they can sell them for a profit. “I’m ready to make some cheese,” one of them says, and the other one says roses are the way to do this. Roses are how they’ll make the cheese.

            A third man walks in. He’s selling Groundcover newspapers. He pulls them out from under his arm and tosses them on the table where I’m trying to write. I flinch. The three men laugh. I’m relieved that they’re laughing because I know now they won’t ask me for money, and if they do, I will feel justified in telling them no because they laughed at me; laughed at my fear. If they ask, I’ll just say no. I won’t even say sorry.

            They don’t ask. They get their own coffee, stand behind me, and talk. I read about Emily and her first night at this school that she wanted to go to so much that she promised to only write what was true for the rest of her life, and now she wants to go home. “Father told me once that one could find something beautiful to love everywhere,” Emily remembers on this first dark night.

            A fourth guy, this, a boy who looks like he’s Hadley’s age, sits outside of the Starbucks. He sits at my feet – the only thing separating us is the store’s window. He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, then holds up a piece of cardboard and smoke from his exhale sails up, around, and underneath what it is he’s holding.

            The newspaper man collects his papers and walks outside, and the rose men watch him. “He sells papers,” one of them says. After a few minutes, they leave, too.

            They don’t go anywhere, though. The three men surround the smoking boy. One of the rose guys looks at him and smiles. He says something to him and reaches out his hand. They shake.

            I watch the newspaper man hand the boy a paper. Under his thumb, atop the news is a five- dollar bill. The boy sees the money and smiles the smile of a child – all wonder and surprise and joy. He stands up, and the newspaper man cups his hand to the boy’s face and brings the boy closer to him. He begins to speak to the boy, and the boy nods, then hugs the newspaper man. The rest of us – the rose guys and me – we watch. We are on all sides of this scene, standing still and watching.

            It has begun to rain. The boy sits back down. The men walk away. I pack up my things and throw my coffee cup away.

            Outside, the world smells of nicotine and rain; of wet cement and gasoline and of a spring that’s fighting its way here, like it must every year, and I am afraid to breath it all in as I make my way back to where I came from.