There’s No Good In Goodbye

3 min read

Alison offers to pay for my Iced Chai Tea Latte, since I have forgotten my money, again.  Playfully, Alison also orders me to hold her change; something I always make her do when we are out shopping. I put the coins in my pocket as we walk out of Starbucks and go talk to another friend. While my two friends are chatting, I pull the coins out of my pocket. I look at them one more time, wondering if they are worth carrying around. But who cares about coins anyway? I throw them on the ground and turn back to my friends. A flash of movement catches my eye as I am about to turn. A woman is bending down, and when she comes up she holds a quarter in her hand as though it were priceless. A quarter I had thrown on the ground moments ago.  She makes the sign of the cross and kisses the little metal coin. She puts it in her pocket and walks down the block. And then I see her hair; the same dark braided hair that falls to the waist. I see her skin; the same caramelized tint that almost mirrors my own. I gasp as the memories I had pushed to the back of my mind resurface. I walk after the woman, quickening my pace to glimpse the face of a person I once used to know. But as soon as she came into my life, she disappeared. The same sadness I felt long ago crept into me. Once again this person darkens my life all with not saying goodbye. 

Afroza had been my babysitter. She had worked for my family since before I was born. She was in every memory, every moment of my life. We would call her Mashi, which means Aunt in Bengali. I thought of her as a grandmother, as part of my family.  She traveled with us on our family vacations, we built her a bedroom in our country house, we helped and knew her children and grandchildren. We didn’t see Afroza as a babysitter, a housekeeper – we thought of her as a part of our family. 

She had been with us for over 10 years, but one day Afroza announced out of the blue, that she was leaving. Afroza told me that she was leaving to go to school; she wanted to learn to read and write. I learned that was a lie when she asked my parents for a recommendation letter, and her new employers phoned for a reference. She was going to work for a family with only one baby, and for more money. I felt betrayed when  I found out she had been telling lies about my family. Telling our doormen, my driver, and my friends’ babysitters that my family was not paying her. That was not true. We paid for her vacations to Pakistan, for her medical bills, we gave her gifts and clothes for her children. Why did she take for granted everything we did for her? But I guess I did that too. I never stopped to think about how my bed was always made, or my clothes were washed and neatly ironed, or my dogs were always walked, and my food was always made. I am not sure if I ever said thank you to Afroza for all the work she had done. 

Her last day was on a Friday. I canceled all my plans. I rushed home after school to see her one last time, but I came back to an empty house. Afroza was not there. She had made an excuse, she was sick. I knew that was a lie. She never said goodbye. I masked my sadness with a cold front.  Everyone thought I didn’t care, that Mashi didn’t matter to me, and was merely a babysitter. I never answered the phone when she tried to call me, I never talked about her with my family. I decided to never let her in my life again. But that didn’t stop the memories or the thoughts that would pop into my mind. What was she doing right now? How was her new job?  All my family agreed she was replaceable, but they never replaced her. How could anyone replace someone who was so special. Afroza shared a bond with my family that no other housekeeper would.

I blink again and am brought back to reality. The reality that I will never see her again. The reality that it was not Afroza walking down the block. I push down the feelings that come with her face and walk back to my friends. I pick up the remaining coins from the ground, thankful they didn’t disappear.