Meeting Sheila From Tennessee

She looked tame, and the entire breakfast area had men in it. I sat on a high stool directly across from her; we are in a hotel lobby. I did not expect her to speak, but she did. “Where are you from?” I told her Kansas City. She asked why I was here. My granddaughter’s graduation. She said “Guess what I made, a pecan waffle." She jumped down to show it to the table behind me. There were three couples there – all white haired like her. I am a burgundy hair; I dye my white out because it makes me look old. I am old, but do not choose to look it. She jumped back up across from me and we ate in silence for a bit. Okay, she ate in silence. I was eating Cheerios, so I was crunching along. “I am burying my husband today,” she told me. It was unexpected and startling. “I am sorry,” I told her. “It’s okay,” she said. “You didn’t kill him or anything.” I did not know what to say to this. “Are you from here?” I asked her. “I am Sheila, from Tennessee,” she told me. “I am Caren from Kansas City,” I told her. “That’s my family behind you,” she told me. “They are sitting under a vent. It is too cold over there for me.” I felt cold myself, all of a sudden.