A fiction exercise

The twelve year old son of an old friend is the subject of The New York Times second most emailed article from yesterday–but emailed today. How cool is that?
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They say she brought the cold with her. Chilly air seems to emanate when she passes. They look at her with disdain.

She left town sometime in the late 60’s or early 70’s to seek fame. She found fortune, four or five times that people know of. Each time she would come to town breathing breathlessly, sucking the air while talking non stop and giving money to anyone and everyone.

Who did she think she was? She got her comeuppance yes she did. The women breath a bit easier seeing her unable to afford keeping up her appearance except at Miss Molly’s Beauty School for Young Ladies. Her clothes. Ha! She doesn’t even go to the outlet sales but looks as if she frequents Wal Mart once a year.

They don’t know that five nights a week she does the overnight volunteer shift at the abused shelter. It began as penance. Something she felt she had to do to make up for years of hard living.

There was a family, mother and five kids, all vacant eyed, all dusty. She had never seen people so dirty:
“Come,’ she said laughingly to the mother, “five kids all under seven. Wow can’t imagine. Let me help you bath them.”

“Miss Becca?” The five year old daughter, the one who sometimes looked at the world with wonder recently, said: “you sure are pretty. Like a star.”

She laughed: “Me? I’m just an old lady.” But something happened to her that night and she walked a bit straighter. The chill she had emanated for so long began to dissipate.