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 lo...