Yeah, but..y'know.

Warning: Profanity.

The cashier and baristas slouch with their phones cradled in their palms. Their backs are to the cash register and customer counter. I know they see me.

I open with, “..Couple questions. First one…”

I make eye contact with the human behind the cash register. They don’t exist to just take my order. Even though I’m offended I have to wait 15 more seconds to order my coffee, I don't need to be rude.

“How are you?”

I mean it. I don’t reach in my wallet to pay. I’m pausing for an answer and not do the sociable back and forth so I can get to ordering.

She rolls her eyes, purses her lips and lets out a, “Meh. What can I get you?”

I order. I tell myself, “I get it.” I worked a job for a quarter century and I felt “Meh” most of the time.

The barista making my drink says, “Did you hear?”

A week ago, it was the day before Thanksgiving, one of the employees was struck by a car and killed. A friend who frequents the same cafe told me.

I told her, “I did. I have so many questions, but now’s not the time to satisfy my curiosity. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I knew the kid who died. Not really. I knew his name. I knew he wanted to get into math. He closed on some weekends and sang to himself while he swept. He was good looking. Flawless skin.

“If I knew then what I know now” was what ran through my mind whenever I said, “What’s up, kid?” This kid had so much life ahead of him. Limitless possibilities.

My buddy who told me the news is devout. He studies his faith..religiously. Religion and philosophy contain reflections on kindness and how to carry one’s self without harming others. At least that’s what I look for.

I saw that he was set up in his corner spot and we noticed that the business put a framed photo of the kid who died over the pastry shelf.

My buddy, under his breath, said, “You know, I don’t know what his faith was or if he was saved, but we all have to answer to…”

I fucking checked out. This didn’t feel right. Wait. “What was his faith?”

Like sexuality, that shit is none of your fucking business.

I draw an imaginary line around you. In that circle is your faith, sexuality and shit you don’t want me to know about. Shit that you don’t want me to look at or comment about. I repeat. That’s none of my business. Whatever you give is what you want to reveal to the world.

How’re we doing so far in this conversation? You still with me?

My buddy followed up with, “Y’know we don’t know where his soul went..”

Full fucking stop. Just fucking say it.

(in my head..)

If he wasn’t the same faith as you he’s burning in eternal damnation. If he reads the same book, says the same phrases, goes to the same gatherings, keeps the same circle, he’s in your club. So, he’s good. And you wanna find out, passively, so you can nod your head and verify that he’s saved…because you have that power. And you need to be included in that assessment.

Imagine this.

We’re at the wake. The family of that kid is around mourning. And there’s one person in the crowd having a conversation with himself, “I’m wondering if he prayed the way I prayed. I know I’m safe but, man…everyone else who doesn’t is screwed.”

I have a problem with this.

Stay your judgemental ass outside of my circle. I don’t step into yours and try to set up shop and tell you what you’re doing wrong.

“Yeah, but..y’know.” If you hear any variation of that in a conversation it’s coming from fundamental, rigid, fixed, “I’m waiting for you to stop talking so I can tell you how shit really works.”

I’m really trying to give you something here. “Yeah, but..y’know.” That person is having a monologue in their brain and you’re the person who bought a ticket to the one man show.

In the meantime, a young man died the day before Thanksgiving. The torment you feel in your heart is called empathy. You feel for his family. You feel for what could have been. The best thing I could do is just bow my head, feel that and hold space for the barista who was almost breaking down at losing her friend. This shit ain’t about me.

It’s okay to shut up.

Oh no. I feel it coming. Someone out there can’t help themself and they’re opening with, “Yeah, but..y’ know…”