Old Mrs Thompson (freewrite)

honeydue (68)in #freewrite • 6 years ago (edited)

I remember that every day we'd go out, I'd see her in the window. She was growing older and more frail as every day went by, but of course, I did not know that, then. I was only a small child.
'Oh, never mind her,' my mother used to say, and hurry me down along the path. But still, I turned to look at the old woman in the window. I couldn't stop myself, you know?
I'd see her and sometimes, she'd see me and wave. But it was a hollow wave, like she only saw part of me. And she never smiled at me, although I always smiled at her. My mother disapproved, I could see it in her eyes.
Even now, when I asked about old Mrs Thmpson, I saw the old, irrational glimmer of disdain in my mother's eye. 'She's dead,' she told me, in the flattest tone imaginable. Mr Peters found her about a month ago, while taking up the new radiator. Mr Peters had been the landlord ever since I was a little girl. A kind man, although utterly hopeless. I kept thinking of him alone with the dead woman, not knowing what to do.
I asked my mother where Mrs Thompson was buried and she wouldn't tell me, at first, despite me pointing out how ludicrous it all was. She said she didn't care, she wasn't telling. My mother can be quite weird like that.
But I found out eventually. It was Mr Peters, I caught him on the phone, the next day, he was in a hurry and I sort of bullied it out of him. I know, it was a sin, God forgive me, but it was for the right reasons.
I know it was, even if the Almighty has a different point of view.

I went, with a big bouquet of flowers on my arm. See, I never knew what her favorite flowers were, I just couldn't bring myself to pick, so I bought one of each and had them all put together. I figured I wouldn't be coming all that often and she deserved some nice flowers.
She always waved at me, after all.
I sat in the grass, beside Mrs Thompson. She was far out, in a remote part of the cemetery. Even in death, she was so alone. And I talked to her, 'cause I figured she was lonely. I wonder how long she went without talking to someone in that old apartment.
'I'm sorry about Eddie, Mrs Thompson, I really am.'
Eddie was Mrs Thompson's son and he had always been nice to me, too. Until he wasn't nice to anyone, that is. His death came as quite a shock to the whole building. I remember my mother sitting at the kitchen table, crying her eyes out. It was the only time I saw her cry for Mrs Thompson's lost boy.
It had all been an accident. I was three, so they didn't tell me much. All I know is that Eddie – who was seventeen at the time – went out one night and never came back. Mrs Thompson was pretty much alone, after that. Her husband had been long gone and her neighbors were always avoiding her.

You know, it's weird, but I think in a way my momma always tried to keep me away from Mrs Thompson out of fear. Who knew when her bad luck would rub off on some of us...