The Woman in the Window

From her second story window, the old lady peered out onto the street below. Daily this woman in black watched the world of the street below. The cars. The walkers. The neighbors. Some said she was taking names and getting numbers. Mostly she just kept watching. And watching. Some didn’t like being spied upon. Others didn’t care. “She’s not any harm to anybody,” they said. No one inquired about her. They all speculated but they didn’t knock on her door and wish a friendly good morning. Only a local delivery boy did that as he brought the latest round of groceries. People just weren’t all that curious. After all, it was an old woman. No one to be concerned about. In her room, she stared down on the world below, craving something other than curiosity. But what? If someone had asked, she might have blurted out, “Charlie. He’s my son. He’ll be home from the war. Soon.”

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