Pocketful Of Stars

Pocketful of Stars

I carry a container full of stars in my pocket.

I hand them out to cashiers as the card processes. Like a little crow handing out shinies. Never know who needs a star to make their day.

Once while in the mall, I passed a perfume counter with a girl with sad eyes. I paused. No transaction. No reason to stop to interact, but those dark sad eyes.

I walk back and hold out the container, tiny knickknacks tinkling in the motion.

“Hello, would you like a star?”. It’s awkward. But very little grace is needed to offer something pretty and shiny.

“Why?” Her response is unexpected. Intense. Shocked. Staring with import at the container.

“Just a cute thing I do. Never know who needs a star.”

I feel sheepish. Usually it’s a quick interaction, a star offered as a receipt is passed. Too quick to process the idiosyncrasy of the moment. Too sudden to not be excited for a cheap little star made out of stone.

“My best friend just died.”

Her face is lowered, sad eyes looking at the stars in the myriad of hues.

“She had an entire sleeve of stars. Tattooed all up her arm…”. She traced an invisible path on her skin with delicate fingers.

She looked at those stars and the strange giver with significance. She chose her star of onyx and asked for a hug, happily given.

Coincidence. Miracle. Serendipity. Mundane magic. Whatever it was.

You never know who needs a star.