You: the beautiful brunette hanging out with your co-workers in the front row at the ABC show at the Galaxy on May 12. Me: the guy you mistook for a bouncer leaning against the stage. You approached me and attempted to start a conversation. I verbally fumbled the ball, unable to talk like a normal person. I couldn't tell you I suffer from a bipolar condition. Or that I had slipped into a severe depression for some reason that day. Or that I was having a hard time keeping suicidal thoughts out of my head. I couldn't tell you these things. I could hardly function at all. After the show, as I made my way to leave, you stopped me. You placed your hands on my shoulders, stood very close to me, looked me straight in the eye, and with what I sensed to be sincere concern said to me, "Goodnight. Please take care of yourself." And then you gave me a hug. I should have spoken to you at that moment, if only to thank you for bestowing upon me that human touch I needed so badly that night. Instead I walked away without a word. I will always regret that. But as this letter proves, I survived. I just wanted to thank you for a simple act of kindness. If ABC comes back to town, I'll see you there. I remember you. I always will.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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