Bridge with sunlight

TO BRIDGE THE GAP: Magic happens when we listen to those nagging voices

I lost it at the dentist’s office the other day. I was there with my mother and had been flipping through copies of Good Housekeeping while waiting for her for hours. I was hungry and impatient by the time she emerged, and then the receptionist presented us with an itemized and very detailed list of expensive dental work that my mother needed to have done during subsequent visits.

I should’ve kept quiet instead of letting the overwhelm get the better of me, but I began asking questions about which procedures were absolutely necessary and which ones we could skip, since my mother didn’t have dental insurance and I’d be paying.

The receptionist, an older woman with carefully coiffed hair, fervently pointed out that all of the work was needed and started to explain why, but I simply cut her off and wouldn’t let her finish. I said that if she couldn’t accommodate us, we’d go somewhere else. By that time, my heart was leaping out of my chest, and heat had begun to spread throughout my body.

As my mother and I climbed into the car and headed home, I instantly regretted treating the receptionist that way. I couldn’t believe how I’d forgotten to pause, breathe and take a backseat to the initial rush of anger and frustration.

Bridging the gap


lioness roaringAll through lunch, I couldn’t stop talking about how I wished I’d acted differently, and couldn’t stop replaying the tense interaction over and over in my mind. So when I went out again to drive to the market, I knew I was really headed back to that dentist’s office.

I had to wait a long time to see the receptionist, and as I sat in the same place in the waiting room, staring at the photo collages on the wall, I once again felt my heart beating so hard that I was sure it must be visible, even beneath my coat.

I didn’t want to swallow my pride and apologize, nor did I want to sit there in such discomfort, rehearsing what I’d say. I wanted to stew in my righteous rage and justify my behaviour, so I could get on with the day’s many errands. Yet, I also knew that if I wanted to live with myself, I had no choice.

“Come on around,” the receptionist finally said, waving me to the side of the counter where we could talk.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for being so rude to you earlier,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she stammered out, a little taken aback. “But I didn’t think you were rude. You were just concerned about your mother.”

“That’s true,” I said. “But it’s no excuse. I don’t like treating people that way. I know you were just doing your job, and I appreciate it.”

I placed my hand on the counter and said again how sorry I was.

“You’re going to make me cry,” the woman said, and laid her hand on top of mine.

Because I was receptive and more willing to listen at that point, she explained to me the different payment options and how procedures might be combined into one visit since my mother doesn’t drive. I explained to her that it was just me now, looking after my mother, since my father had died years ago and my brother often wasn’t around.

Everything had changed, not only because I’d opened the heavy door between us, but also because we’d literally touched each other, had bridged a gap. I was now looking into her eyes, paying attention to her puffy grey hair and how her slightly crooked mouth shaped words.

Magic happens


man making light magicAfter I left, I felt free, as if my wheels had been realigned by listening to that insistent voice inside that told me I couldn’t rest until things were made right with this stranger—until she became a stranger no more. She’d even written her name—Connie—on a card for me.

I couldn’t wait to tell my mother what had happened, but when I came home, she had a surprise for me. Connie had called to say that they’d made a mistake in calculating the costs of my mother’s procedures and would be taking $1500 off the original price.

I hadn’t expected this to happen, of course, when I went back to apologize, but I wasn’t entirely shocked, either. I’ve learned that things like this occur when we treat each other with the dignity and respect we all deserve as fellow human beings.

«RELATED READ» DON’T GET MAD, GET CONSCIOUS: Can President Trump make you a better person?»

[su_panel background=”#f2f2f2″ color=”#000000″ border=”0px none #ffffff” shadow=”0px 0px 0px #ffffff”]James Crews is the author of two collections of poetry, The Book of What Stays (Prairie Schooner Book Prize and Foreword Book of the Year Citation, 2011) and Telling My Father (Cowles Poetry Book Prize, 2017). He lives on an organic farm with his husband in Vermont (U.S.). Read more of his writing on his blog, singingbowl.org.


image 1 Pixabay 2 Pixabay 3 The magic wand by Patrick Brosset via Flickr (CC BY-NC 2.0)

  1. I know how you felt-that you had to return to make amends, otherwise you couldn’t live well with yourself. I have learned this lesson too, James. Take good care, and thanks for sharing your story.

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *