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The Current

The door opens as it always does at this time. It is four in the afternoon and she had been waiting all day. She is pushed forward slowly until the front wheels of her chair gently touch the concrete floor. She wants to adjust her position, shift her weight so she will not be sore again, and her companion helps her by lifting her, holding her under her arms. It is a humid afternoon. It rained earlier, the kind of shower which is neither too heavy nor too light, just the irritating kind which doesn't really make you wet but you'd still rather bring an umbrella. The help tries to cool the old woman by fanning her. But she refuses. She had been in the cold all day as she watched her regular shows, had her soup and bread, and her afternoon nap. There is nothing really to see on the street she has been looking at everyday. The street of the house her married daughter owned was not a very busy one. Just a few meters down their street ends, so she has already recognized the cars that pass by--they are her neighbors coming home from another day at work, but she doesn't know their names. The help of the house across her had gone out to water their grass. The old woman for some reason likes watching flowing water, such as from the faucet, in a stream or river, or the rain. Yes, the rain above all. She had wondered many times where water really flows from and where it goes, if it goes somewhere. If it ever goes back to where it came from. But the help across her was in a hurry. Closing the faucet when she re-entered the house she cared for but didn't own, the maid across the old woman disappeared from sight. It is getting dark. Tomorrow, thought the old woman by the door, perhaps the maid will stay longer.


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