The 100-year-old woman
by Felipe Zapata
Mrs. Williams sits in my Ford Ranger pickup in Galveston, Texas, in 1996.
During the period I call Hell’s Half Decade, 1995-2000, which began with my wife tossing me in the street and ended when I moved over the southern border, there were just two good “moments.”
Those good moments both were caused by women. One was a very young woman. The other was a very old woman named Mrs. Williams. She was 99 when we met and 100 when she died.
I was a Meals on Wheels driver in 1996, a volunteer job that filled some of my dismal days. Evenings were spent at my paying job at a newspaper.
There were a number of clients on my route, but none grabbed my attention like Mrs. Williams. I cannot tell you her first name because I never asked her.
She was just Mrs. Williams.
She rented a rundown “shotgun” house in the original black neighborhood of Houston. The street was old brick, and the glistening commercial towers of downtown soared close by.
Even on days I was not delivering meals, I would stop by her house, and we would sit on the small porch to talk and watch the neighbors and passers-by.
I brought her ice cream, which she loved, and sometimes went shopping, bringing her chicken sections I would wrap in foil and put in her freezer. She had relatives, but they didn’t do much.
She told me once how much my visits meant to her. You got no idea. I enjoyed hearing that.
I heard some good stories too. She described the time she had retaliated to a cheating boyfriend with a butcher knife, carving him up pretty good.
Didn’t kill him though. Just a nice slicing, which he deserved.
Nobody much visited her, just me. She rarely went out. For 99 years old, she walked fairly well but carried a cane just in case. And she was not senile in the slightest. She was incredibly sharp.
My visits went on for about six months. We went out just twice. Once to a snazzy seafood restaurant on Houston’s South Loop.
It was a yuppie place, and she was amazed.
I suggested the seafood platter, but she balked because it “costs so much.” I ordered two seafood platters, but she couldn’t finish hers. The waiter bagged her leftovers for the shotgun house.
Our second date took us to the Gulf coast at Galveston Island where she had lived when far younger, and had not visited in 40 or 50 years. I could see memories swimming through her mind as we crossed the causeway.
Oh, my. Oh, my. She kept repeating.
And we enjoyed more seafood that afternoon.
* * * *
One day I went to her house, and nobody answered the door. I asked a neighbor who told me Mrs. Williams was in the hospital.
A granddaughter had passed by and found her on the floor where she had been for quite a spell, unable to stand up.
The following day I visited Mrs. Williams in the hospital where she was surprised to see me. She looked good. Her middle-class granddaughter arrived while I was there, and we were introduced.
The granddaughter was all dolled up, and did not impress me.
Three nights later, while I was at work, I opened the obituary page of tomorrow’s newspaper fresh off the press downstairs.
Mrs. Williams, dead at 100.
* * * *
A time or two in the following weeks, I drove by the shotgun house on the old brick street in my green Ranger pickup truck just to look. I felt sad and lonely.
When you are 99 years old, and you need some ice cream or chicken parts in tin foil, call me. That’s assuming the child bride has passed on. But, I am not driving to Galveston.
Laurie: Driving to Galveston will not be necessary. Driving to Mexico would be as far as you need to go. However, I do so pray I will not outlive my child bride and, since she is 16 years my junior, the odds are with me.
There is a reason you have a side in the “religious war.” No matter what you call yourself.
Lately some of my friends and I have stopped calling ourselves Christians. Why? Because I want to be known as a believer, or a Jesus follower. Or someone on the way. Anything but Christian, because the ones in the news in the US make me blush, and sometimes, they make me angry. They are so far off the mark. Felipe can use the label agnostic if that’s his preferred term. But, in truth, he acted like Jesus did in the Gospels when he befriended Mrs. Williams.
Laurie: The better members of the Christian faith are not the ones that land themselves in the news. The ones who get the publicity usually are the crackpots.
And I would never call myself an agnostic because I am not.
Steve: I’m definitely on one side in this particular war. I just don’t buy my team’s textbook. You are, of course, referring in large part to the previous post.
Life’s journey has a way of leaving strong impressions on our minds, sometimes with sadness, sometimes with a smile, but always with a lesson learned and felt.
Andean: That is true.
Oh, that’s a very nice story, old codger.
Thanks, Becky.
Well done, señor.
Thanks, Francisco. It was interesting and fun for me.
Yesterday was Grandma’s 96 birthday, we went out for potato pancakes, she likes her pancakes. She asked my mother who I was, my mother said, Norman, Grandma replied, we used to have a Norman in our family. A good laugh.
She was a welder during the war, repaired ships that had been shot up in the war with Japan. She told me once that she tried to do the best job she could on those ships because one of her brothers might be on it, next time out. She lost two of them in that war. She could never watch war movies.
She told me a story about stashing union sign-up cards in her bra so she could get them out of the factory to turn into the NLRB. She was fired for being a unionist but won her case in court and back pay ta boot.
Your friend was lucky to have her mind up until the end, I wish my Grandma had hers.
Norm: Your grandmother sounds like an interesting person, and Rosie the Riveter ta boot.
Yes, Mrs. Williams was remarkable in that she was not senile in the slightest, hard to pull off at 100, I think.
My mother died at 90 just a few years back, and she was still sharp too. I also have an aunt in a nursing home in Maine who is totally out to lunch in her mid-80s.
Luck of the draw.
I too look in on a Lady of Color. Her grandparents came up to Canada on the underground railway. She was a friend on Mother’s. They shared a bond of sorts. Granny is black. My Mom was a divorced lady, both being outside the norm of the day. Granny is 92. My mother passed many years ago. Granny likes special stuff. We have secrets. Her children bring food, the not so special stuff. I bring small salmon steaks and crab cakes and little chocolate cakes. Granny has a sweet tooth. I do that part. We go for car rides, she likes the big Lincoln. We’re like Driving Miss Daisy, but I am not black. Granny says I’m a darker shade of pale. When her time comes, I will lose one good friend.
Ruco: With luck, she’ll make it to 100 or beyond.
Driving Miss Daisy. I like that.
Bob, that is so sweet of you!