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.
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