I wish I had spoken to her
My guilty pleasure is taking myself for a coffee in town, even though my home is just a 15 minutes walk from the centre. No matter, I have tried most of the coffee shops in the city and I shudder to think how much I have spent over time.
A couple of years ago I started to notice a woman in two of my favourite haunts. Straight out of central casting, she was the archetypal little old lady; must have been well into her 80s, grey hair in a bun, old lady type clothes , slow on her legs. Always on her own. It became evident that she had a routine going; I would see her in one particular place having coffee at around 10.30 and in another where she would have lunch. Always with a civilised glass of wine. I always smiled when I saw her- for some reason the glass of wine tickled me; it seemed very civilised in one way but a bit” you go, girl” in another. I used to message my daughter , at university in another city ,when I spotted her and we both took pleasure in knowing she was out and about and treating herself. I never spoke to her though. On one occasion the waitress in her designated morning coffee place did call her by name but other than that she seemed to be very much on her own.
Now we have been in lockdown for over a month and I want to know she is alright. I want to know somebody is getting her food, her medication, and I want to think she has someone to share her morning coffee and lunchtime wine with. I so wish I had spoken to her. But those were different days. It would have been odd to introduce myself to a stranger, even odder to want to know their contact details. But I wish I had. The fact that she was always on her own says something to me , but perhaps the rest of her family and friends were at work. Yes, let me just believe that.
So, I think of her. I send a prayer out that she is well, not too isolated, and that someone is looking out for her. When this ends, if this ends, I will haunt those coffee shops at her usual times in the hope of seeing her. And if I do, I WILL speak to her, and I will tell her I thought of her, and I will offer up a prayer of thanks.
But it has just dawned on me. I am cracking on a bit, though I’m not going down without a fight, a regular dye job , daily foundation and bright lipstick. Is there a young person somewhere in the city worrying about me in the same way? Pants.