ANOTHER OLD WOMAN
There is another old woman who I don’t see as regularly as the other one wishing for new underwear, but when I do see her she has the face of many women I have known in the past. All good women. All women who have suffered, or raised children and suffered some, or couldn’t have children, and suffered with that. Suffering is part of loving. I’ve climbed the parking garage stairway twice for exercise and am back in my waiting line, except no one is waiting yet with me. I am early. An early bird. I see what may be this old woman coming down the stairs as she rounds the turnstile corners, and I see more and more of her...the very slow descent, the all black clothing, shirtsleeves and shorts, ill-fitting a very worn out body...coming closer. Now she is at ground level and approaching, and I’m not quite looking up from the book I read (Ristovic, of all people!) and when I do, I see a face, large and sad and filled with every homily that ever existed. The true face. Unvarnished, in no need of etiquette or pro forma, it’s looking to me as squarely and fairly as a dog that loves, but in this case it is all of life’s affections with how she says, “Hello.”
from A Possible Eden, Bob Arnold, Longhouse 2010
photo: © Bob Arnold
