Gloria Simpson sits in the service department waiting room. Her eyes stare in the direction of the old woman on the other side of the small room, but not looking at her. She blinks and slowly comes out of a small trance like daze, then shifts in the uncomfortable chair. She had been alone in the room.
Tall metal crutches lean against the wall next to the woman. Gloria's mind slips into overdrive. Long lost feelings come swirling back out of archived memories. Details of the woman flood her senses - the long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail, the white blouse covering a slim chest with smallish breasts, and faded blue jeans covering equally small hips and long leg. Around the short remains of her left leg, the pants leg is neatly trimmed. The woman rubs the fabric over the end of her stump and then leaves her hand resting on rounded piece of thigh. Gloria imagines all the different reasons the leg is no longer there - cancer, farm accident, car wreck, ...
The woman looks across the room and smiles. "Hello." She scratches her stump.
"Has it been very long?"
Other than the unwelcome sound of a woman's talk show on the TV, they are alone in the room. "Since just after my husband passed away. My name is Liz Morgan. I am waiting for my pickup truck. Some loud noise ... I forget what he said was the problem."
Gloria mouths, "May I join you?" and points at the chair next to Liz.
Liz pats the chair. "I'd love some company. Don't get much out at the farm anymore."
As Gloria settles in the chair beside Liz, the service manager walks in with a pile of papers. "That was quick. I have both vehicles ready."
Standing at the counter, Liz scans the details of work performed and glances at Gloria standing next to her. "I live just outside of town. Can I fix you some lunch? Even an old lady needs some girl talk once in a while." She laughs and then writes a check for the repairs.
Gloria holds the door open. The faint aroma of some unknown soap flows off her well-tanned skin as she passes.
The white farmhouse is like the one in every picture Gloria has seen of a farmhouse. She parks next to the old black pickup and leans against her car watching Liz hop a few steps and snake the crutches from the space behind the seat.
"Not much of a place anymore, but the mortgages are paid off. Robert's life insurance, pension, and Social Security leave me enough to enjoy life." The alternating clump of the leather sole and the tap of the rubber crutch tips echo over the wooden decking of the porch. "Excuse the mess. Guess I wasn't expecting company today."
Gloria follows Liz though the immaculate living room, the immaculate dinning room, and into the spotless kitchen. "I'll ignore the mess," Gloria teases.
"Does my soul good to be around another woman. I miss those touches from when I was your age."
