There Was An Old Lady
She was an old lady, we all offered. Set in her ways, a voice added. United by tragedy, we neighbors were standing together on a lawn on which none of us had ever lingered. The policeman sighed. Who knew her the best? He asked us. Maybe me, a small woman said. I call her the Republican, because the only time she acts friendly is when she wants to stick a Republican sign in my yard. I always say no, but she is tenacious.
The policeman got out a small notebook, flipped it open, and pulled out a black pen. “She was odd,” the bus driver called out. I know he’s a bus driver because he and I always try to get to the same corner before each other in the morning. Me because I do not want to get behind him, him because ….well, I do not really know why.
She was always mean to me, a young man with a beard said in a low voice. I have no idea which house he dwells in. I give him a quick glance, then stare back at the black and yellow crime scene tape that is all over the sidewalk and walkway to the old lady’s house. What happened to her? I wonder. I ask it over and over in my head, but I am afraid to say it aloud. Apparently it is something really bad. Serial killer?
“I spoke to her through her door once,” the Republican said. “She came to the door and peeked at me.”
“Did she live alone?” the policeman asked.
“I do not know. She did not open the door. I could not see anything.”
“When was this?”
“Maybe ten years ago or so.”
The crowd begins murmuring what we know, which is less than nothing. The police officer’s cheeks are dotted with a pair of anger dimples. I recognize them from angry parents I see sometimes who are in the office to defend their little darlings from detention and such. “Someone knows something,” The police officer says. He stares right at me. I suddenly feel guilty. But of what?
He walks over to me. “How well did you know her?”
“I did not even know her name,” I tell him. “I started waving at her when we first moved here about twelve years ago, but she did not wave back. Then I started getting angry glares, so I thought it was making her uncomfortable, so I stopped waving.”
I looked down at the black and yellow tape. Whatever happened here today actually started a long time ago. This woman was a victim of a slow, lingering death years before today.
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