LA Rebellion
A Part of the Story

old womanThe old woman, slightly stooped, sporting the the red-dyed hair of elderly L.A. dames, sons boxing up her stuff, flitting, floating purposelessly across the sidewalk she’s walked for three decades, watching them empty out her home to move her into the famous old folks’ cottages for ancient, forgotten showbiz stars.  She used to have a cat, but when the last one died she decided she probably wouldn’t outlive the next.

I never could remember her name, wouldn’t know her any more, she had become a ghost for me before her time by just a little, but joining all the other ghosts who taunt me.  Her silent steps peeled away all the petals of my busy-ness and there it was: the nothing, the cavern where my soul should be, the space where a life well-lived would be if only I had.


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