Author: Kathryn Amonett

Sometimes, creative life (the imaginary worlds in your head) gets muffled by the real world. And rightly so. 

Earlier this week everyone in my state was awaiting the governor’s decision: whether or not to commute a death sentence.

Why was this even a matter for debate, you may ask.

It wasn’t, actually. Far from debate, the decision was left in the hands of one man. 

Setting aside for the moment that the death penalty is still somehow legal, the combination of drugs used to perform them is not effective. The company that makes the chemical no longer sells it if the purpose is to kill someone with it. So Oklahoma has been making do with a different mix of chemicals, the result being that the last several executions have been ‘botched’ (which is an absurd euphemism for men spending nearly an hour writhing in agony before they eventually died.) 

What could Gov. Stitt possibly have been considering? What pros could he have weighed against all the cons? I cannot think of a one.

So, as a state, we were wondering if our governor would choose to torture a man to death.

It wasn’t until the 11^th hour, so to speak, when the governor announced that he would follow the boards decision and not execute Julius Jones (a man who did not have a fair trial for a murder that someone else admitted to doing. So, doubtful he should even be in prison in the first place.) 

That is the absolute bare minimum he could have done, ensured that someone wasn’t tortured to death. Julius Jones still faces a life in prison without the possibility of parole. 

There was cheering in the capitol, the streets, the schools, everyone elated that an elected official chose to do the humane thing. The victory at once momentous (a man keeps his life) and yet so small. Nothing has changed. It can happen again.

Currently rereading: The Rhinoceros by Eugène Ionesco. 

I am in an airport, on my way to Spain for a month—a long delayed graduation celebration for my sister. It was meant to be Morocco and Spain, but alas, Morocco was cut at almost the last minute. I am delighted to see that everyone is wearing a mask. 

But that’s not what I am going to write about today. Instead, I’m going to recount a scene I witnessed, that unaccountably touched me.

I was at a cafe working on the next in the Relearning Magic trilogy. There are not a lot of us here when it opens at 6, but there is me and an older man, also wearing a mask and work clothes. He’s perhaps in his  60s (though I don’t really know, I’m terrible at these things.)

Mary—everyone’s favourite employee because she’s just so genuinely kind (and at also somewhere in her 60s maybe? Older? Who knows) had been out sick for some time—she has blood cancer and reacted very poorly to her booster shot. Mary wasn’t there, but this man asked another employee if she would be in. He had heard from another regular that she had come back to work the day before. The employee said she didn’t know (which is appropriate even if you do know. Don’t tell random men when your coworkers shifts are).  

Anyway, he sat there with his cup of water and his coffee that he looked like he had already finished. Just sitting, not even reading, not on his phone. Then, at 7am, Mary comes in with her smile and all that hair piled on top of her head. 

“Mary how are you doing?”

“I’m good—“ she said, in that automatic way that everyone does, but then she switched into a genuine tone and said, “Oh, yeah, I’m feeling better! Getting better every day.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Mary disappeared into the back. Only then did he throw away his coffee cup and leave. He had been waiting for her. Just to say that little thing. Just to see if she was okay. 

This broke my heart a little and I don’t know why. So small a thing. That he delayed his departure just a bit to see for himself that she was okay. 

Normally I’d hate this kind of behaviour of male customers to female employees, waiting around until she turns up for her shift and the procede to talk her ear off, and then she has to stay an listen because she’s at work and cannot leave. (Anyone who has ever worked at a cafe or bar knows these guys, has been through this.) But he didn’t press. Didn’t say anything inappropriate or too familiar. Just the sort of thing that anyone could say to anyone with whom they had a nodding aquaintence. —How are you? —Doing better. —Glad to hear it.

Inoccuous, and, to Mary, probably normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. A regular asking how they are doing before he leaves.

But since I’d been there since 6, had heard him enquire after her health, obviously worried, and then when the object of his concern appears, he demands nothing of her. Just seeing her, having that short conversation was enough, and he left. Didn’t impose himself on her or her time.

Maybe he does fancy her, or maybe he just cares about her as a fellow human being who in some way, has touched his life. 

It was so small, this little scene that I witnessed. I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal about it. 

I suppose seeing something so wholesome and untainted by ulterior motive pleasantly surprised me. 

Patreon! Instagram! Goodreads! Facebook! Twitter!

Here is a link to my my Creativity Planner. I created it for myself, and am sharing it with the world in the hopes it helps other fellow neurodivergent creatives be more productive.

• 

And here is a link to my series, Relearning Magic! The third, Nature of Magic, is now available!