“I didn’t mean to, Joe. I think that’s what bothers me the most.”

Derek sat in the passenger seat of my car, working through a Monster energy drink in small, restless pulls — it’s drinking that’s less about thirst and more about needing your hands to do something. We were on our way to his counseling appointment with Abby.

“So, you know the barista over at the Scooters, right? Yesterday morning, she handed me my coffee, and I noticed — like when something moves in slow motion, and you catch it without really looking — that her hands were moving slower than usual. Running on the last bit of gas after a long shift, you know? All I did was say thanks. I think. I didn’t ask her if she was okay. I think maybe I should’ve.

“Then an hour later, my Uber driver tells me it’s his first week on the app. Asks me how my day’s going. My head’s full of stuff I figured was urgent. Disability paperwork. Appointments stacked from eleven to four. So I put my earbuds in and never answered him. Kinda feel bad about that, honestly.

“And then after four, I see Tanya leaving, her arms full — purse slung over one shoulder, a couple boxes balanced against her hip. Looked like she needed a hand. I thought about offering. Then I just walked on by. Didn’t say a word, Joe.”

I nodded, half-listening, off in my own head. Driving participants is a lot like being a taxi driver — you pick and choose what you actually take in, and you’re a captive audience either way. Not like I can pull over and go be somewhere else.

“I know what you mean, Derek,” I said, and I wasn’t sure how much I meant it.

“Three people, Joe. One day. I didn’t ignore any of ‘em, not exactly. But I sure didn’t see ‘em either. There’s a difference. And it ain’t a flattering one.”

We rode in silence toward the I-55 Northbound Benton exit at Mile Marker 80, and somewhere around there it caught up with me — last Friday morning, the woman ahead of me at the pharmacy counter who’d asked, almost apologetically, if I knew where the bus stop on Broadway had moved to. I’d told her I didn’t. True enough. But I hadn’t looked at her long enough to wonder why she needed to know, or whether she was going to be standing in the cold for an hour waiting on an answer I could’ve helped her find.

“You’re not the only one who does that,” I said. “Yesterday I had a woman ask me a question at the pharmacy I didn’t bother to actually try and answer. Told her I didn’t know and left it there. Didn’t even slow down.”

Derek looked over like that surprised him. “Yeah? You did that? Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Yeah. It’s not really, Derek. But it reminds me of an old story. Two young goldfish swimming along pass an older one going the other way. Older fish nods and says, ‘Morning, boys. How’s the water today?’ Two young ones swim on a while, then one turns to the other and goes, ‘What the hell is water?’“

“Goldfish,” Derek said, like I was speaking to him in Chinese.

“I’ve heard that story for years, and it always sort of made sense. Today it actually does. Sounds like both of us have been swimming through people who showed up for us, Derek, and neither one of us noticed the water.”

“Huh.” Derek took another pull off the can. “So what, Joe? We’re supposed to just — notice more?”

“Maybe. Worth bringing up with Abby, if you’ve got nothing else.” Derek was quiet, and I let the silence stretch out for a minute before I spoke again.

“Funny thing, Derek — it was my kiddo who clued me in on this, a few days back. Standing in the checkout line at Schnuck’s, and Izzy asks why I never talk to Candice, the lady who checks us out. Candice says hi to me and my family, every time, even remembering my name. ‘She seems nice, Dad,’ my daughter says. Just like that. Without ever meaning to, I’d been teaching her that some people exist only to serve us, and the rest? Well, those are the only ones worth talking to. Kids notice which side of that line you put folks on. Mine did for sure, anyway.”

“Thanks a lot, Joe.” His tone was borderline snarky. “Now I do got something to bring up in counseling.”

“What — that you got it wrong, Derek? Or that you’re going to do it different now?”

Derek chuckled. “Guess we’ll find out. Or at least my counselor will.”

A few days later, I drove past the Benton exit, alone this time, and caught myself wondering whether I should look for the woman I’d missed at the pharmacy. But now I’m asking Candice how her week’s going when I’m in the checkout line, and then I’m waiting long enough to actually hear the answer. I still miss people. Yesterday I walked past someone in the Gibson hallway with my head down, thinking about a deadline, and it didn’t catch up with me until I was three doors past. But I noticed I’d missed it. That’s new. I guess that’s what they mean by showing up — not getting it right every time, just staying in the water long enough to keep noticing it’s there.