I haven’t seen her in weeks. She’d sit on one of those padded walker-chairs, huddled next to the pay phone. Every day on Lexington Avenue a block from my office, I’d side glance her, not wanting her to feel self-conscious. Her hair was a short shock of blonde curls in the back, the front straight and plastered to her forehead like too much margarine. Sometimes, she’d look up at me and smile, which I eagerly returned. It crossed my mind to take a shot of her, but if she caught me, I’d feel as if I had broken an unspoken trust.
She became a daily touchstone for me and I always wondered what call she waited for, who would be on the other end. I imagined it was a relative, maybe an estranged daughter, someone who would inspire this devotion.
I never once saw the phone receiver in her hand. Now she’s gone. I only hope that the phone finally rang for her, that she smiled a beautiful smile, and took her walker home to finally relax.