Portrait

by Pam Woolway

She sat in front of Anahola post office with her walker
placed before her. She watched me pull into the parking
space, turn off the ignition, shift into park and step
onto the asphalt. She smiled at my dogs in the bed
of the truck. Leaning into the wall, I lingered
awhile to talk story. She told me she was waiting
for the bus. I offered her a ride home. She declined
saying that the bus driver would worry if he arrived
and she wasn't there. She mourned the loss
of her license two years ago. We talked about
freedom. Then, she looked at me with her clear,
brown eyes and said---in a tone I've used when I'm running
late for an appointment or on a Sunday night before
bed when I'm preparing for the coming week---she said: I'm already
91 years old. As if she had only just discovered it that morning.