Reparations: Chop Suey’s good faith.

[Chop Suey Books in Carytown, Richmond, VA.]

The more chances you have to be around people—strangers, in particular—the more opportunities you have to be proven right about them. Or wrong, however you view the glass. I tend to assume every person is both fundamentally kind, and trustworthy. Within certain parameters, of course.

Just as likely as it is you’ll meet both those true and foul, is the frequency with which you can do your own part to skew the ratio, so to speak. I was hanging a blouse on a high rack in the store the other day, wearing a long white skirt, smiling to myself as I often do during the workday—an odd phenomenon. The blouse grazed the shelf, and I heard a plunk and a plastic-y bounce and saw a coffee cup on the ground, then felt a wetness spreading across the front of my skirt: deep, dark roast, no cream. Back in the bathroom, dabbing the cotton, I fought the urge to be frustrated with what I could easily dub as an inconsiderate, spur of the moment decision someone made to let someone like me do their part.

A couple of weeks ago, I had lunch at NY Deli with my mom, across the street from Chop Suey Books. A big noontime beer and some earnest conversation, and a stolen moment browsing books seemed like the place we both wanted to be more than anything. The kitty wasn’t around to bother, so I sought out a few paperbacks.

“Just these two,” I said, sliding a signed copy of Spartina across the counter, and (more subtly) a used Anita Shreve page-turner from the outside table.

“That will be $15,” he said, then seeing my card, “but, uh, we only take cash for outside books.” I glanced at my mom who shrugged, also cashless. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t have any.”

“Tell you what. You take them both, then come back by and bring me a dollar for this one.” I wanted to burst.

“Like an IOU!” I said smiling.

I carried the dollar around in my back pocket for over a week, either catching them right after closing, or making it in time, but wearing a different pair of jeans.

Finally, I was on my bike one afternoon and pedaled over. I walked in and saw a new guy at the counter I didn’t recognize, but held the creased bill out to him. “Here ya go,” I said. “I got a book off the table last week but didn’t have cash.” Clearly shocked, he said, “Wow, thanks!” and I hurried back outside, having left my bike unlocked on the sidewalk.

I mean, a dollar can only do so much to sway the universe. Don’t think I’m naive enough to believe it would keep my bike from getting stolen. Big holes are torn in the karmic fabric. Doing my part to stitch a hole closed here and there has never been a big priority for me. But it seems, the busier my brain gets and the more I have to think over in my life, such sentimental moments are the ones I find the most comfort in.

-Carey