We’ve all played that game: in a public place, you take people watching to a new level by assigning roles and storylines to those you see. That couple over there? They’ve been married for six months but are just now taking their honeymoon. Those two guys over here? On the surface they have nothing in common other than their workplace, but they eat lunch together every day. Each is too afraid to admit to the other one that he is his best friend. What appears to be convenient is actually cherished.

I always want the strangers I see to be happy. I want them to have stable, loving homes. I want them to feel that their lives have meaning and purpose. I like to imagine that none of the people I see in real life are the people who write nasty comments and tweets.

A couple years ago, while visiting Barcelona for a few days during a semester abroad, I watched two boys, probably ages 9 and 11, playing ball on the beach with an older man with white hair and hipster glasses. The man looked old enough to be their grandfather but not necessarily; the possibility of fatherhood lingered.

I personally preferred this grandfather scenario, where the parents, worn down from a life run by these two rambunctious boys, asked grandpa to watch the kids so they could have a weekend away. The grandfather gladly obliged and took the boys to the best place to drain excess energy effectively: the beach.

I watched as the play continued, with grandpa defending the goal marked by a shoe on each side while the boys attacked. They dove in the sand for each ball, aiming for spectacular headers without success. And yet, they were happy, just like I wanted. Just a grandpa and his grandsons, enjoying a sunny day at the beach.

I sat in the happiness of the mini-life I had constructed for these people I did not know until one of the boys peeled off his sweatshirt and gave it to a woman sitting just outside the danger zone of flying sand.

She was clearly not grandma. She was mom, definitely mom.

She was supposed to be on vacation with dad.

The illusion was shattered.

The moment brought me back to reality: I know nothing about these people. I was more bothered by this development than I should have been. While I knew these people didn’t live in the little box I had created for them, couldn’t they at least wait until I left the beach to step out of it? I mean really, how rude.

But I shouldn’t be surprised that when I try to make heroes out of the strangers I see, they don’t play along. The life I want them to have isn’t necessarily what they have, want, or need. My happy narrative makes no impact on the lives these people lead. The grandpa hero character I had constructed was just that–a character. This man, this actual person, might not be a grandpa. He might not be a hero either. But that’s not for me to say.

Catherine Kramer

Catherine Kramer (’14) has a degree in English and works in publishing. Her continued existence is made possible by grace, warm hugs, and iced chai lattes.