“That’s a great book,” said the male voice a few feet behind me. He had apparently noticed me taking the book off the top shelf, which was at eye level for me.
I turned around and saw the title “Manager” on the Barnes & Noble ID tag pinned to his polo shirt.
It was an overcast Friday afternoon, October 5, 2018, and my husband, Rick, and I had decided to take a day trip to the Inner Harbor in Baltimore, Maryland. Whenever we can, we try to include a visit to the large Barnes & Noble store, located near the National Aquarium. We hadn’t been there but five minutes when the book in my hands, Float Plan, was praised so highly.
“Do you know who that is?” the manager asked, referring to the author, Rob Hiaasen.
“Yes, I do,” I said, “What a horrible tragedy that was.”
I knew that Rob Hiaasen and four of his co-workers at the Capital Gazette in Annapolis, Maryland, had been the victims of a mass shooting in the paper’s newsroom, on June 28, 2018. Hiassen had been the assistant editor.
The Barnes & Noble store manager, a friendly and gentle-voiced man in his fifties, was, by then, standing alongside me. He nodded as I acknowledged Rob Hiaasen and what had happened.
“Everyone here was very affected by it,” he said, “especially since Rob Hiaasen’s daughter works here at the store.”
It took a second for his statement to register
“HERE?” I said. My voice rose a couple of pitches and my eyes widened to the size of walnuts as I spoke. The reply that followed stunned me even more.
“Yes,” he said. “In fact, here she comes now.”
I looked to my left and saw a tall, lovely young woman, I guessed in her twenties, walking toward us. I imagine it was the sight of her manager that brought her our way. Did she have a question for him?
She was quickly standing in front of us, next to her boss. The mother in me wanted to give her a tight hug, but I held back. I was a complete stranger, holding a copy of her deceased father’s book in my hands. I didn’t want my hug to be perceived as pity. We expressed our sympathies, and I said that I was so happy to have come across her dad’s book.
Samantha Hiaasen (she goes by “Sam,” I later learned) didn’t owe us even one moment of courtesy—not after what she and her family had been through, not with grief they were still enduring. But she was gracious, sweet, and cheerful.
There we were, just over three months since the horrific mass shooting of her dad and his coworkers, days and days of coverage and publicity afterwards, and here was this young woman, with the strength and the courage to be at work, and the heart to be nice to strangers. I couldn’t help thinking—again it was the parent in me and some familiarity with the feeling: Rob Hiaasen would be very proud of the daughter he’d helped raise.
Rick and I excused ourselves and headed off on our individual strolls through the bookstore (he’s magazines, airplanes, and the Civil War; I’m creative nonfiction and the Starbucks café). Sam continued speaking with her boss, and I was soon riding the escalator to the second floor.
I had to force myself to pay attention to where I was going so that I wouldn’t trip at the top of the escalator. My mind was still on what had just happened on the first floor.
But … what had just happened?
Some would call it a coincidental meeting. And they might be right. My husband’s reaction was, “That was pretty wild,” and he moved on. There was no wrestling with it, no trying to find the deeper meaning. I’m sometimes jealous of his and others’ ability to move past such things quickly—not in a cold or insensitive way—but with an attitude of “that happened and now it’s over.”
Being the “there are no coincidences” type of person that I am, however, I’m always looking for the meaning behind these “chance” encounters (see https://tessenterline.com/its-a-mystery/). There’s a transcendent quality to what I feel on occasions such as meeting Sam … occasions that feel more “sacred mystery” than coincidence to me.
Afterwards, I want to linger in what fills me—feelings I can’t quite describe but are too powerful and meaningful to me to, such as on that day, simply slide into the next row of books. Such encounters aren’t upsetting. I guess I’d describe what I feel as a kind of bewildered joy
I’m not trying to sound woo-woo about all this or make too much of that afternoon in Barnes & Noble. It just feels right to me to rest in and acknowledge the times in our lives that intertwine with others in a special way.
But here’s where it goes beyond that.
Another reason why meeting someone like Sam is special is because she has suffered through what has increasingly become, for many of us, one of our worst fears … something we want to believe won’t ever happen to us.
Sam reminds me of my vulnerability, of my humanness, of the ties that bind us all. That in a split second I could be up against the same grief that Sam and so many others have had to face as a result of the violence and hate that are now so common. Seems a rare day when we don’t read or hear about a tragedy somewhere in the world.
However … it provides an opportunity.
And a place from which to grow.
And a reason for which to reach out.
And ways to show our love.
There are so many people out there (in our families, neighborhoods, churches, offices, book clubs, etc.) who are hurting. So many of us are hurting.
We can’t be there for everyone. But maybe we can each pick one extra person to call, visit, write to, or pray for in the coming week, and in the weeks thereafter. Maybe someone (reading this newsletter right now or not) will get in touch with youand say, “Hey, I know it’s a hard time for you right now. Just wanted to check-in and see how you’re doing.” Or, “Wanted to let you know that I’m praying for you.”
Personally, I’m not always eager to get on the phone. Just a quirk of mine. But I love sitting across from a friend in a café and listening. And I love writing notes to people. (see https://tessenterline.com/the-love-note-project/)
So here’s my plan: In this next week I’m going to write a note to Samantha Hiaasen. Get it to her somehow. Not that she’ll remember me … doesn’t matter. I just want to let her know that I’ve been thinking about her … that I’ve been praying for her and her family. That I’ve read her dad’s book … and it’s great!
(Note: Rob Hiaasen’s book Float Plan was published posthumously by Apprentice House Press, which is associated with the Communication Department at Loyola University Maryland. At the request of Maria Hiaasen, Rob’s wife, a contribution was made by AHP to the Everytown for Gun Safety Support Fund. To learn more, go to www.everytown.org.)
(Photo by Paulo Resende on Unsplash)