I had just taken a seat in an empty row, waiting for my number to be called, when he walked over. Mid-30’s, average sized, Hispanic. His short hair was neatly combed, and he was clean-shaven. I had glanced up and then started to look away when something incongruous teased the back of my brain and made me look again. His expensive sweater and neatly pressed slacks were oddly set off by his fingerless leather gloves and the shaving kit he was carrying. He sat down next to me, and calmly and clearly started to speak.

“I remember when they sold ice in Germany and Russia. Todd would point out to me, ‘There’s Mr. Sharp!’. And why was it sharp?” He paused and looked at me significantly. “Because of the butterflies.”

With that point made, he opened his shaving kit and pulled out a stack of condoms, still in the wrappers. After shuffling them a bit, he dealt five of them onto his knee and dumped the rest back into the bag. He picked the five up and fanned them out like a poker hand. Staring at them intently, he carefully began to sort them. Right about then my number came over the loudspeaker, so I stood up to go. He looked up and asked, “Why?”

I met his gaze, and gave him the only answer I could think of: “Because of the butterflies.”

He froze momentarily, then began nodding. As I turned away he had a beautiful smile on his face. Sometimes you just have to speak to people in their own language.