Thanks, Jackie.

I went to Barnes & Noble in search of a card for my friend’s 25th birthday (thank God she’s seeing that milestone first).

I was explaining the term “quarter-life crisis” to my grandpa en route to the store. I told him I’d been feeling the effects of anxiousness, confusion, hypertension (have I really?), a sense of urgency, and [insert other desperate sounding side effect] since my early 20s, so maybe the reverse of typical quarter-life feelings would be my destiny on the day I turn 25 (August 9). Fingers, arms, and legs crossed. Picture it.

“I think you’ve been dealing with that since you were born.”

Thanks, Poppa.

As for my friend (buddies since pre-school), she has quarter-life feelings, too, but she’s found her way to grad school (oh how I wish I could revive my lunch pail) and is one-half of a loving relationship (as for me, that’ll be the day).

Anyway, I approached the check-out counter and a guy with a masculine appearance spoke to me in a tone that didn’t match his scruffy exterior. His subdued, calming voice breathed an inquiry about my status as a Barnes & Noble rewards club member. I said that I wasn’t a card carrying member and, much to my surprise, he didn’t try to recruit me to his side of the register.

I struggled with my wallet to retrieve $3.12 (For paper! Just paper and a message my writing could rival. “Why not make your own card,” you ask? Because I don’t have the time or the energy at present time, but I do have the supplies.)

The manly cashier handed me a bag with the card inside (wasteful in an environmental sense?) and said, “Thanks, Jackie.”

The “God?” in the beginning of Madonna’s Like a Prayer found its rhythm in my head.

Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone
I hear you call my name
And it feels like home

I paused for a few seconds and then asked how he knew my name.

“It’s on your license.”

Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there
Just like a muse to me, you are a mystery
Just like a dream, you are not what you seem
Just like a prayer, no choice your voice can take me there

And then – in the way that I always want to know how things work – I questioned if he saw my license when I was fumbling with my wallet.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile.

But my license says, “Jacqueline.”

How did he know I go by “Jackie,” I wondered pronouncedly, (a state of mind that often leaves my lips ajar/not a pretty expression). Story of my life.

I walked away smiling to myself (and maybe to passersby?), amused with the simple exchange that made me feel so alive.