Just a Flicker

Grant County, Kansas

 I’ll spare you the details, but there’s a story here:

She was the same age as us, which was the age when one has just the right amount of independence and not too many worries. Perhaps we were sixteen, maybe seventeen. I’m not sure who met her first, but somehow we got to know her. 

She didn’t go to our church, or any church that I can remember, but she had been homeschooled and wore skirts. But, that wasn’t the most interesting thing about her. The most interesting thing was that, at the tender teenage age that we were, she was the manager of McDonald’s. 

      One of my friends came to know her somehow, so naturally, we were all friends by association. Every time we went to McDonald’s (which was a lot in those days), we would be greeted by her big, bright smile. Sometimes she would join us at the table. After all, she was the manager, and could do whatever she wanted. 

     One time, half of us wanted pizza, and half wanted McDonald’s. To settle the problem, we got pizza and took it to McDonald’s. I was so embarrassed. “What if they see it?” I queried frantically. I was not about to get kicked out by the manager of McDonald’s for bringing pizza in. There are better reasons to get kicked out of McDonald’s, and unfortunately, we would come to discover some of them. (Those are stories for another time. Let’s get back to smuggling pizza from Pizza Hut into McDonald’s.) 

To promote the illusion of stealth, we sneaked the pizza in a side door and to a table behind a corner. Well, as you’ll recall, the manager of McDonald’s was our friend and often joined us at our table. That night would prove no different. Pretty soon, a blonde ponytail with a smile came bouncing around the corner. 

I’m sure I was already gathering my things to go. I’m sure that I was probably even halfway to the door. If not, I was definitely sinking lower and lower into my seat. I am what is known as a pessimist, and I was going to be kicked out of McDonald’s. I hoped they’d at least let me take my nuggies and dipping sauce. 

As our luck would have it, she didn’t kick us out. She wasn’t even upset. She laughed. And laughed. And said “You guys brought Pizza Hut to McDonald’s??? That’s awesome!” I guess it really does pay to have friends in high places. 

That was five years ago. Most of us are married. One of us is a mom. All gone away and come back. Most have gone away again, this time for good, but one remains. I still go to McDonald’s, but now, with a different set of friends. 

I guess time and distance has chipped away at my memory, because now, I scarcely think about our McDonald’s Manager Friend when I’m there. I heard once that she had married a man and had a baby. I’m not sure in what order, or if any of it is actually true. I can’t even say that she still lives in our little hometown.  I could say that I had almost completely forgotten about her. I could say that, were it not for a chilly Monday afternoon outside of gate B95 at Denver airport. 

Bored, tired, and annoyed to be on the third plane of the day, I scanned the passengers who had already taken their seats. The plane from Denver to Home is always interesting. After a day of traveling and seeing every type of person there is, this last, tiny plane was full of locals I was used to. I could tell they were because they looked like farmers, cattle men, middle-aged midwestern moms, and good ‘ole country bumpkins: my favorite kind of people. 

My glance fell on a girl against the window. She had a blonde ponytail with streaks of pink. Her eyes were big and blue and her face, almost child-like. 

Wait. I know that face. 

But how? And why? I could not, for the life of me, remember. It was almost there, nagging at the edge of my memory, like a dream forgotten by suppertime. Something about a burger? Nuggies? A visor with a yellow “M”... Crooked teeth smiling and a blonde ponytail…. 

When her eyes met mine, she held her glance for a moment longer than what could have been a coincidence. I could see a flicker of recognition in her eyes. In that split second, as I was trying to remember her, I could see her doing the same to me. In that single second, her eyes seemed to beg the question: I know you, but why? 

What did she see on my face? I knew I must know her, because her face wasn’t new. I smiled and said “Hi” without fully knowing who I was speaking to. Slowly, the train of people inched forward. Three rows of seats later, it dawned on me. That girl was our Manager Friend from McDonald’s. 

I almost turned around and called her name, but social anxiety won the battle that day. I was too worried that she wouldn’t have figured out who I was, and how awkward would that have been? And so, I inched forward to my destination, seat 12C.

The plane was small and crowded. Sleep evaded me, and I found myself wondering about her. Here we were, years later, on the same plane. 

I hope life has been kind to her. I dare say it’s been kind to the rest of us. How much time has passed? I thought of all the places we have gone; all the things we've seen and done. I wonder how she has filled the past years. 

As minds do when one has time to think, mine drifted here and there. I started to wonder about knowing people– not just a flicker of recognition, but the knowing. The remembering. And then, as one inevitably does while thinking, I started to think about God. (It may be odd to go from thinking about McDonald's memories to thinking about God, but I suppose it can be done. I am sure it has been done before.)

He is in everything He creates: every flower, every blade of grass, every sunset. He lives on the highest hill, the deepest valley, in every drop of water. Do I recognize Him when I see these things? 

Sometimes I do. One cannot help but to stand in awe and thank the Creator for a splendid sunset. One cannot help but be aware of His presence when standing in the shadow of a great peak.

High and mighty as a roar is He; but also as small as a whisper. He is there, in dewdrops clinging to spiderwebs; in tiny rosebuds in the garden. I hope I am able to see Him in all He has created. I hope I remember Him, and can say “There He is.”  I hope I will recognize Him instantly. 

I hope it’s more than just a flicker in passing.