Her head was tilted to one side when I saw her, reminding me of an upside-down rabbit I'd once owned. She'd escaped to the backyard one night and it rained on her (the rabbit, not the old woman in the flowered overalls), and she was never the same again. An inner ear infection, I think. She always had her head tilted upside down after that. Until her tragic death at the hands (or, more accurately, teeth) of the neighbor's Rottweiler.
As I say, Tamara reminded me of that rabbit, the way her head almost rested on her left shoulder. She walked toward me down the garden path and stuck out her hand.
"Howdy, friend. Don't mind me, just trying to unstick a little earwax. Been bothering me for a week. My hearing isn't the best on a good day, but I'm half deaf now. Nothing a little hydrogen peroxide can't help. What can I do for you?"
It took me a moment to collect my thoughts. "Oh yes, ma'am, I'm here to paint your fence. Remember? Your son gave your name to our church's senior ministry and we're here to help you out."
"Oh yes, oh yes. By all means, come in. Isn't that something? Here I was thinking you might be selling magazines. Yes, of course, you've got a bucket of paint. Sit here on the porch for a minute and let me get you an iced tea."
I protested that I could get to work on the fence right away, but Tamara would not hear of it. Either that or she couldn't hear it; I wasn't sure which. Either way, I got my glass of iced tea and an earful of conversation. After five minutes there was nothing but ice cubes in my glass, but Tamara was just getting into her groove.
"No family around here, you know. My son's in Wichita, of all places, and I never see him. Just comes around every few months to see if I'm dead yet. Ha! At least he cares for me more than my daughter, though. She and I parted a long while back. Karen's been living wild since she was 15 years old, and I haven't seen her since she turned 20. Went to Chicago to be an artist. Hmph. As if those splashes of paint on a canvas could be called art. She blamed me for never respecting her. Well, maybe I didn't. Maybe I always wished she could be a little girl again so we could do things differently. But, there you go. Can't go back, now, can you?
"It's not all bad living alone, you know. I've been in this house for 20 years, ever since my husband—late husband, I should say—retired. We had some good times here, for sure. I'm embarrassed at the garden, to tell the truth. It used to be my passion. I got out here every day, hours at a time, weedin' and waterin' and plantin' . . . but then arthritis stopped that mostly. No, I just keep the lawn mowed when I can. Shame. And that fence—Tom would go crazy if he knew I'd let it get into that state. Looks like an abandoned property. He'd always say that a well-kept yard is a man's most precious possession. Or something like that. Man, he loved his yard. And I loved it too. This is where we had Karen's graduation party, and Louis bought me most of those flowers in that bed over there after a late frost killed the others off."
She sat silent for the first time since I'd laid eyes on her. Her head was still tilted to one side, and I could see a few drops of liquid on her earlobe. She stared out at the unkempt lawn, and I caught the reflection of a few pink flowers in her eyes. Her shoulders sagged into her overalls, limp and heavy.
Plugging up her bad ear and lifting her head, Tamara turned to me and said, "Thanks for coming, friend. Can I get you some more iced tea?"
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