Context: Joseph Christian “JCJ” Jukic is a character—perhaps a musician, a writer, or just a thoughtful soul with a calm presence. He’s just come back from volunteering or visiting someone at the UBC psychiatric care facility. He’s having coffee with his old friend, Denise, whom everyone calls Miz Thang because of her bold, tell-it-like-it-is personality.
Setting: A cozy, slightly noisy coffee shop on a drizzly Vancouver afternoon.
Miz Thang: (Stirring her latte slowly, eyeing him over the rim of her mug) Alright, Joseph. Spill it. Your text just said, “Went to UBC today. Heavy.” You know I hate suspense that ain’t in a movie.
JCJ: (A soft smile, looking out at the rain for a moment) It was… profound, Denise. I went to see Robbie. From the community center? His sister’s in there.
Miz Thang: Oh, Lord. Robbie’s little sister? That’s tough. How’s she holding up?
JCJ: Better today. She was having a good day. We sat in the sunroom. She showed me some of her watercolors. They’re… vibrant. Like, violently hopeful, you know?
Miz Thang: (Nods, her teasing demeanor melting into something softer) That’s good. But baby, those places… they can eat you up if you let ‘em. All that quiet pain in the air. I was worried you’d come back all twisted inside.
JCJ: I know. I was worried too. But you focus on the person, not the place. Robbie was a wreck, pacing. I just tried to be a… a calm spot in the room.
Miz Thang: I bet you were. Did you do that thing you do?
JCJ: What thing?
Miz Thang: That listening thing. Where you get so still it’s like you’re not even breathing. Like the whole world funnels down to whatever the other person is saying. Or not saying.
JCJ: (A slight shrug, modest) It’s just listening.
Miz Thang: It ain’t just anything. Most people listen to reply. Or they get this panicked look, like they need to fix it right now. What happened?
JCJ: Robbie started talking—fast, scared. About guilt, about failing his family. His sister, she just wanted to talk about the seagulls outside the window. How they looked like paper airplanes. So we… we followed her lead. We talked about seagulls. And for a minute, Robbie stopped pacing. He almost laughed. Said one looked like it was wearing a little suit.
Miz Thang: (Chuckles softly) A seagull in a suit. I like that.
JCJ: Me too. When it was time to go, the nurse at the station—Marge, her name is—she stopped me. Took me aside.
Miz Thang: Uh oh. Trouble?
JCJ: No. The opposite. She said… (He pauses, slightly emotional) She said, “You have a gentle way about you. In here, visitors either bring in chaos or they absorb it. You absorbed it. You were a perfect gentleman for them today. Thank you.”
Miz Thang: (Leaning back, a look of proud satisfaction on her face) Well. Marge is a smart woman. I coulda told her that. You’ve always been that way, Joseph Christian. Even when we were kids. You absorb the weather people bring in.
JCJ: It’s just being human.
Miz Thang: Nah. It’s a choice. A lot of folks choose to be a brick wall. Or a mirror. You chose to be a… a cushion. Something soft to land against when everything else is hard. That’s what a perfect gentleman is. It ain’t about opening doors. It’s about being a safe space.
JCJ: (Looks down at his hands, then back at her) Thanks, Miz Thang.
Miz Thang: Don’t thank me. Just promise me you’ll let some of that peace you absorbed settle in your own bones, too. Can’t run on empathy without refueling.
JCJ: Promise. More coffee?
Miz Thang: You buying, perfect gentleman?
JCJ: (Smiling fully now) Always.
(They raise their hands to signal the waiter, the quiet understanding between them as warm and steady as the coffee in their cups.)