Psych 101 / January 27 2008
This morning I encountered the scruffy old woman I often see pushing her little baby doll around the village in a broken pushchair. She did not have her constant companion with her on this occasion, and, hobbling along with her face to the ground, she seemed to be in some distress. As I drew closer, I could see that she was crying.
Being the Good Samaritan that I am, I stopped to check that she was alright and to ask her if there was anything I could do to help her. ‘Where’s your little friend today?’ I asked, pointing to the empty space in front of her.
She was shaking. She didn’t look at me. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ she said softly, ‘he died.’
She put out her hand as if to touch my arm then quickly retracted it and stuffed it into the pocket of her long coat. She seemed about to look up into my eyes but thought better of it and began to shuffle off in the direction of the market place.
‘Wait! Where are you going?’ I called after her.
‘Shop. Got to get me vodka an’ me nuts an’ me fags.’
I let her go.
Sometimes I feel as if I am the subject of some kind of psychological test or scientific experiment being conducted by some higher authority. I imagine several frowning beings sitting in their antiseptic laboratory, observing me intently while fastidiously scribbling notes into a journal.
I wonder how I scored today.
Filed under English Village Life / Loneliness / Psychology / Thoughts
Comments
3 comments on “Psych 101”
Nelson Galaxy / January 28th, 2008 at 11:02 pm
Don’t go near crazy, scary old ladies. They will swallow your soul.
Jo Beaufoix / January 29th, 2008 at 1:48 am
But that was so kind. I am so sad for the lady.
Napoleon Fantastic / January 29th, 2008 at 11:25 am
Nelson,
too late.
Jo,
don’t be sad for her: she has her fags and monkey nuts and vodka.
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