Bettie used to live next to live door to us. She passed away almost a year ago.
As far as any of us knew she wasn't married and didn't have any children. I
don't really recall seeing many people visiting her either. Oftentimes I
would see her in the front yard tending to her small garden. She seemed to
take special care of the chrysanthemums she had. I never really saw the
attraction to that flower but she loved them. In the years that we lived next
to each other, we rarely spoke. The times we did speak tended to overshadow
the long stretches of silence between us. The first time I saw her was a week
or two after I moved in. As I was walking to the front door I saw her tending
to her flowers. I decided to introduce myself and walked over to her. I introduced
myself and she extended her gloved hand and said her name. We exchanged
basic information and made polite chit-chat. As I looked at her, I could see that
she had been marvelously beautiful when she was younger. Her eyes were
deep brown pools tinged with hints of hard won understanding. They also spoke
of the kind of hardship that those of the older generation find it better to hold
inside like a precious stone. I couldn't help but wonder what led her here.
It would be another year or so before we would speak again.
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