A Palimpsest of Soul and Skin

About ten years ago, I went to a coffee shop in Parksville to meet a friend. Another patron was there, a woman who looked to be in her early twenties; there was something going on with her that gave the impression that she was developmentally challenged—something in her posture or her speech—but that's not what ultimately drew my attention to her. "Unbreak My Heart" was playing in the café via a local radio broadcast, and this young woman was quietly singing her guts out to this song. Her eyes were closed; tears streamed down her face; her hands gestured with every word. She didn't seem sad—she just seemed like she was deeply connecting with the song itself. I'd heard this song a million times over the years—I liked it well enough—but somehow this woman changed the whole feel of the song. It was such a vulnerable, childlike, private display that I was, at first, unsettled, but her freedom and expressiveness moved me so deeply that I've never forgotte

A couple of years ago, I passed by the old cabin where my ex-husband and I lived with our two children. There was still stuff left there from our divorce nine years ago; he'd abandoned the car and van that I signed over to him when I went to Toronto. I guess the property owners don't go up to the cabin very often, nor are they motivated to remove those old cars. In the now-rusty station wagon was his old teddy bear that he'd had from the time he was a little kid. He'd left that behind, too. I cracked opened the car, choked on the stench that filled my nostrils, and pulled out the teddy bear. It seemed so sad in that old, abandoned car, and it was covered in mould. He's allergic to penicillin, so I figured it would be a bad idea to try to clean it up and send it to him. I left it there, sadly, and drove away.

Today, an acquaintance of mine was talking on Facebook about Honey Boo Boo and her family being in a car accident on Monday night. Some people were indignant about even caring, and criticized the original poster about even mentioning it when there are other people in the world more "worthy" of sympathy or empathy. Another commenter even went so far as to wish the Boo Boo family "poorly" instead of wishing them well. As a follow-up empathy "test", the original poster shared a link to a news story about O.J. Simpson's apparent brain cancer . People are people. Everybody hurts. I don't wish cancer on anyone. If O.J. has cancer, then my condolences go out to him for the suffering he has to experience. What is required of me beyond that? He's not a "real" person in my mind—he's a media projection with whom I have no relationship. He's too abstract and has turned into a caricature (either by his own choice or by the whole media ma