The Ghost Woman

The Ghost Woman

She used to stand there, leaning on one leg, the other ready to go. To go where? I always wondered. Where does she want to go?

She would wait hours–maybe the whole afternoon, even into the evening. Was she waiting for someone to pick her up? Did a family member promise to pass by, but never came, so everyday she stood for hours expecting to see his car?

I started calling her "The Ghost Woman". People passed by her–around her–as if she didn't exist. They never seemed to notice she was in the middle of the sidewalk, nor did they appear disturbed that she never moved. I began wondering if I was the only one who saw her, but my boyfriend confirmed that she was there.

Everyday, without fail.

Even when it snowed or rained. She would wait under a black umbrella with her thick, brown scarf wrapped around her neck. I wanted to say something to her, ask her if she was ok, or if she needed something. 

But I never did.

Something in her eyes didn't see me. They looked past me, down the street where he would be arriving. (I always assumed it was a man.)

Did a lover promise to return one day, and she didn't want to miss that golden moment? Somebody told me she had had someone once.

So, there she was when I came home everyday, between my street and the bus stop. She was there at night as well, just not in the morning.

Did she have a normal job? Did she work in a school or somewhere else for half a day? How did she have time to wait all afternoon?

And then, one day I noticed she wasn't there. I started searching for her, but to no avail. She hasn't come back for months.

I hope he came. I hope he brought her where she wanted to go.

I hope she didn't need to wait anymore.

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

 Picture: <a href='https://pngtree.com/free-backgrounds'>free background photos from pngtree.com/</a>