What would Angela have done with a day like this? What would she have felt here, now?
I feel her beauty when I taste the colours in the autumn leaves shimmering in the breeze above my street.
I wonder if she’d enjoy watching people pass by outside this cafe window. Was she a people watcher like me?
Would she like strong coffee? Would she prefer tea? Would she feel groggy and grumpy in the morning too?
I never knew her that well, but always wanted to. In my questioning kid mind, I’d guess blindly at her thoughts. She always kept them to herself. No clues, but she remains an archetype for me – a mold, a template – a model I can contemplate.
Would Angela have enjoyed this world today, so different from the one she knew? She would have been eighty six by now. If she’d been physically and mentally able, stronger, or had more help in her life, maybe this world could have been a happier place for her.
I can picture her in an alternate reality, a different world, maybe in her mid-sixties. Her grey hair would be short and curled, held aloft by some stylist’s magic. Angela would have her own sense of style, and clothes that fit, that she’d bought with her own money.
She walk with her nose tipped up just a little bit, looking back on some sort of career involving music. Maybe she would be going out to meet a lady friend for coffee or to shop.
Maybe she’d be unmarried, child-free, and okay with it. Over the years, she would have had many suitors and maybe one serious engagement, but she’d have remained her own person and now be happy on her own.
She’d go browse an art gallery on Granville Street, or go down to A&B Sound and buy some new vinyl. The Sound of Music, or something sweet by Burt Bacharach.
The good things don’t go out of style easily.