A short story..
I think I was on my bike when I first saw her . It was a rather bleak Almerian day when the skies are covered with an overcast grey, a wind whips off the sea and you could swear there were even a few spots of rain in it. She was, shall we say, distinctively undistinctive: a thick black coat on her, which -to be perfectly honest -could have benefited from a deep clean. Not small it’s true but her frame seemed a little shrunken, her best days were clearly behind her. She was ambling along the Paseo Maritimo to one side of the cycle path but I knew this story well and was wary, slowing down well in advance, to be on the safe side.
Sure enough, as I drew closer, without looking she seemed to change her mind and walked out right in front of me, looking straight ahead. Braking sharply enough to just miss her I was nevertheless rattled. ‘Leer’ I shouted, perhaps a little too loudly, leer! Just briefly she looked around and with the slightest flicker of her head nodded acquiescence before moving off towards the Dia supermarket, where she seemed to have clearly suddenly decided she needed something urgently: milk perhaps, biscuits more likely, even plain water, who knows? I couldn’t be mad for long though as there was a certain charm about her, something of a ‘devil may care’ attitude that struck a chord in me as well. She was a bit of a loner it seemed, doing her own thing with no one to have to answer to, making her own decisions about her life as she saw fit.
Then for a few weeks afterwards I didn’t see anything more of her. She seemed to have disappeared to other paseos, other plazas. However on one sunny, much warmer day in mid Spring as I was racing along the Paseo, coming back from a park ride with a following wind there she was again, that distinctive black coat on, despite the sunny warmth of the day. She was alone again, shuffling along the paseo, seemingly uncaring about all the other pedestrians around her..they had to divert around her if they were to avoid a collision. I rang my bell well in advance this time, just in case she might cross over without warning, as she had before. She just briefly glanced up towards me, her face puckered a little, as if to say ‘I’m really not bothered by a whippersnapper like you’, and this despite my own advancing age.I looked more closely this time and could see her hair was tinged with white, her face wrinkled in a lived in, a loved in way. And still I thought: what character she has: she knows her own mind, gives off a sense of purpose in the world and despite her gait, inside she feels she owns her world, she owns the world. I felt a pang of something deep inside me, though I’d be hard placed to tell you exactly what it was now. A touch of envy perhaps; even though I’m aware it sounds faintly ridiculous; jealousy? You’ll laugh at me for even admitting it but there was a sense of freedom that she had, a sense that she had stopped worrying about the world and its problems and was living for the moment. Yet again she was alone and yet again she seemed quite content with her lot in life.
I saw her a few more times in the following weeks, always alone, she was hard to miss with that thick black winter coat on, despite the ever strengthening Andalucian sun. She never walked in front of me again when I was on my bike, such that I was able to relax, chill out when I saw her. I caught myself wondering what her name was, where she lived in the city and how long she had been a loner. What was her life story I wondered? Were there any relations of hers in the city, anyone to care for her in her old age. I was reminded of the story I read where an old lady in a city in Germany had been found sitting at her table dead for two years by police, her neighbours thought she had moved away to be with relatives during Covid. That was no way to end a well lived life.
And then just a few weeks ago, I had occasion to walk through the built up streets behind the Paseo, to meet a friend at a much loved cafe she had recommended to me. As I walked into the cafe and looked around the unfamiliar seats and tables for my friend I realised I was a little early, I sat down to wait, idly flicking over the pages of the menu. Two ladies were sitting at the next table chatting away and as I gazed in their direction I saw her again, still in that thick black coat. She was tucked away by the table, quiet but perhaps alert to all around her. As a pampered white poodle came in she growled a little. ‘Lady’, her owner scolded, be quiet or I’ll take you home right away, you’ll see!. She was patted and given a treat and resumed her patient waiting game under the table, with a gentle sniffly grunt. I fancied she was dreaming of her paseo walks, of freedom and biding her time, until her next great adventure took her off someplace close by the sea.
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