Eugenia

She rushed into Church, late as usual, holding down her floppy sun hat with one hand while carrying a small change purse in the other. The congregation had just begun singing the opening hymn when the rush of wind, smell of sunshine, and spring breeze carried her into the Church, earning more than a few eyebrow raises and drawn-out sighs. Wearing a hopelessly wrinkled sundress, the young woman, hardly embarrassed by her late arrival, walked quietly along the rows of pews before settling for a nearly empty one.

I say, reader, nearly empty for there was one inhabitant who seemed locked into place in that hard pew, sitting and gazing into the distant face of Jesus while the other congregants stood and sang. Her eyes looked wistful, and her white, wispy hair seemed at odds with her youthful green eyes. Her mouth was parted, almost like she was trying to sing, but for some reason couldn’t remember how.

The young woman, Nina Larson, was satisfied with the inhabitant’s appearance, and so she set about sliding into the pew and joining in the tune of “O, Sweet Jesus Come” as nonchalantly as possible, carefully glancing at the older woman to see if she, too, would give her a judgmental glare. But the woman didn’t move, and Nina was grateful. At least in her heart, she could imagine that someone understood.

Throughout the entire hour-long service, Nina allowed her mind to wander. She thought of the woman, who remained unmoving, seemingly locked into place. Who was she? Why did she appear so sad? Nina tried to join hands with the woman during the Our Father, but the woman glanced down hopelessly at her thin, worn hands, her face flushing almost in shame. Unfazed, Nina continued to think. Maybe this lady was a germaphobe, or maybe she had a disease. Nina believed the woman had an interesting story to tell, and it was all she could do not to take out her camera and start snapping photos of the woman, her hands, her eyes, and her snowy, cloud-like hair.

By the end of the service, the woman had hardly moved, while Nina’s energy had been crackling like electricity the entire time. Just as the congregants rose once again for the closing hymn, a spark seemed to materialize in the woman’s eyes, and as the people began to sing “Hallelujah sing Him Praises”, the woman began to sing “O, Sweet Jesus Come”, and Nina smiled, all bright and happy-she remembered! But soon, Nina’s joy was overshadowed by the woman’s abrupt silence, as she realized she was singing the wrong hymn, and Nina thought she saw a flood begin to rise in the woman’s eyes.

Poor thing, she thought. Poor woman.

At the end of the service, everyone who walked past the woman gave a half-trying smile and a goodbye.

“See you next Sunday.”

“Goodbye, sweetie.”

“Beautiful singing, Eugenia.”

The last one made Nina flare in anger, even though the congregant hadn’t meant it as a jab. Realizing his mistake, he hurriedly apologized and walked quickly away. Nina remained seated this entire time, trying to gauge more about the woman but gaining nothing but her name- Eugenia.

It sounded musical to Nina, and it easily flowed across her lips as she greeted the woman for the first time.

“Good morning, Eugenia! Ms., I mean. My name’s Nina-Nina Larson-I’m new here in town. Is somebody coming for you?” Making sure not to embarrass the woman again by offering her hand, Nina politely touched the woman’s shoulder as she spoke. The woman gazed up at her, attempting a small, sad smile.

“My friend will be here shortly”, she said, indicating the now open Church doors.

“Well, why don’t I wait here with you?” Nina asked cheerfully. She thought about the woman’s story, what her life might be like. Maybe she’s a mother. Yes, a mother. With five kids, and a husband who left when they were young. Maybe that’s why she looked so sad.

You see, reader, Nina loved to try and figure out people’s life stories. Of course, she was almost never correct. But she could always pick up on the threads of people’s emotions and start sewing out their true nature. Like Eugenia. She was indeed sad and she was, indeed, forgetful.

But for right now, Eugenia was content with being happy-not permanently joyous, as there is a difference-but happy with the young, vibrant, vivacious young woman at her side.