We'd just finished smoking out on the little patio adjacent to the convalescent home, when we heard them looking for us.
Sharing a cigarette was the least I could do for Eleanor... "95 and trapped" was how she put it.
She'd outlived her children, and her grandchildren all lived out of state.
She had a few friends in the home, that is on the days when they remembered who she was, but mostly she was alone.
She was thrilled when I agreed to give her a smoke, and then help her to sneak out to enjoy it. Sure I could get in trouble, but seriously, I didn't care. She was a prisoner, she knew it, and so did I. Two rebels fighting the system seemed to give her lots of joy.
It had been something she'd done most of her life, growing up in the segregated south had challenges she seems to relish in having overcome.
We smoked and laughed quietly, a moment that ended all too soon. We said our goodbyes, and I headed off to visit a friend.
And that's the last I saw of Eleanor.... a joy to pass the time with.
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