She caught my eye as she shuffled up the street. It was her black shawl, embroidered with colorful, delicate patterns and how she held her head proudly. Her dark eyes met mine. As we walked closer together, her brow furrowed. It wasn’t from the difficulty she was having walking, nor did it seem to be from the young man behind her, rapidly talking on his cell phone. Her eyes flicked down to my hand, holding my child’s. Then they sprinted to my husband, walking by my side.
When we were close, she laid her hand on my free arm, and leaned in to whisper just to me. “It’ll all be over soon,” she said, her eyes wide. “He will die and you will both be free. And you will find happiness.”
Then she smiled and shuffled up the street.
My husband’s eyes narrowed as he watched the woman pass. As soon as she had left, he barked at me, “What did she tell you?”
“Nothing,” I smiled at him. “She’s just a crazy kook.” But my heart was racing. I glanced back up the street, watching as she ducked into a little shack. She looked at me one last time, as if she knew I was watching her, and she smiled. Not a sad smile, but one that brought her joy. And then she was gone.