betty.
she is my neighbor.
she is old. she walks around in long, pink, shirt dresses, and has white hair.
out of all my neighbors, i know her the best. not because i talk to her, because i never do, but because i know that her name is betty.
she is sad.
lonely.
sad.
i wrote about her a year ago. she lost her husband and i felt bad for her.
i bet she feels like dying.
her friends are gone, her love is gone. this is her second christmas alone.
and she is old.
last year my mom made me shovel betty’s driveway. i guess, because i owed it to the world. because i am a sad, pathetic, trampy, alcoholic.
my mom’s version of community service.
i didn’t shovel her driveway this year. shoveling snow hurts my feelings. i’ve said that before.
but i did see her this morning after i came home from a night of drinking. she was getting her mail.
the mail man that get’s cookies from my mom every christmas, put mail in our mail box, walked in front of my car.
we waved.
then he proceeded to betty’s mail box and gave her the mail.
two seconds later, better was outside, in all her shirt dress glory, getting the mail.
as if that was all today had planned.
she waved at me and smiled. she doesn’t know my name.
but i waved back.
she would probably hate to know how bad i feel for her. but i can’t help it.
it makes me want to pick up a hobby.