Just after noon,
at the intersection of Mission and High streets, I saw her at
the wheel of a tan SUV. The red light held us both, each
vehicle facing the other. 

With an Oregon gray-winter-solstice-zombie stare, her eyes
looked ahead at Nothing.

            I knew her in the ’90s. She was a Mormon . . .
            probably still is. Four kids and a utilitarian marriage—
            functional, its passion drained years back
            by an exhausting commitment to full immersion in
            a religious lifestyle. 

            I recalled how, this time of year, the church service,
            volunteer obligations, family management, and
            holiday expectations always left her brittle.

            Fifteen years ago, to distract herself, she began
            joining multilevel marketing companies that
            promised honest products, sales opportunity, wealth,
            and vacations in the islands. Companies that started
            or flourished in Utah, harnessing the residents’
            obedience to authority and structure. Companies that
            offered the process of dramatic and evangelical
            conversion. . . . Companies that provided a promise of
            treasure, waiting just down the (eternal) road.

I wondered, for a moment, if she had signed to the latest
version of Amway. When I knew her, such activity helped
her spirit—to buy the promise, the product, sell it to others
through heartfelt testimony, recruit them to do the same.

            A stay-at-home mom, she said she was looking for a
            little extra cash. Such companies offer more, though,
            and even promise the realization of dreams and a
            fulfillment in life, well beyond the resources of one’s
            own world.

            When I knew her, she was on antidepressants to
            help her mood. She was on Xanax to decrease her
            irritability. She took Percocet for her headaches and,
            I suspect, sometimes just to give her heart. She
            also said she believed that her body was the Lord’s
            temple, and so she avoided cola drinks, never tried
            tobacco, and never, ever drank coffee, tea, or alcohol.

            And it bothered her if others did in her presence.

I knew she was troubled then, but today, at High Street and
Mission, she looked gone. Spent. Empty. Maybe I was
projecting, because I am, at times, all of those things, but
she looked vacant. 

Just before the light turned, her gaze drifted and I caught
her eye. She squinted to see through her auto glass and
through mine, half recognized me, half-smiled.

Green light and we crossed in the intersection. Another
glance and half-smile. I quietly wished her a little afternoon
sun, a good year in recruitment and product sales, and
the love of her Utah Jesus. 

– John Van Dreal