She's Mean

Helen is 96 years old. She's short, about 4'8", with a solid build. Her hair is steel gray, and she uses a walker. Helen is definitely an old baguette like me, no doubt about that, but she is tough, crusty. Whenever I see her, she's wearing one of her many jaunty hats, the kind good for traveling, the kind you can roll up and stuff in a pocket or suitcase. Helen doesn't use her walker to walk. Oh no! She uses it to keep her balance while she scurries. That woman can sure cover a lot of ground. When I can catch her, I always ask her how she is. She always scrunches her face into a terrifying grimace, makes a fist with her right hand, shakes it in my face, and says, "I'm mean. I'm very mean." I'd probably believe her, but then she gives me a radiant, mischievous smile, giggles, and we embark on another of our conversations.

Before World War I, probably around 1912, Helen's father went from Scotland to Burma to establish a national telephone company there. Soon aftr his arrival, he met and
married a Burmese woman. Helen was their oldest child, and then they had a couple of sons. Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931, but Japan and China ddidn't fight a full scale war until 1937. On December 1, 1942, Japan invaded Burma, and during the invasion Helen's father and brothers were killed. Helen's mother was afraid for her daughter's life, so she sent her off on an extraordinary journey. Alone, Helen walked over 1,000 kilometers down the legendary Burma Road. The Road was mountainous. It cut through the steamiest of jungles. At all times there was the threat of capture by the Japanese, and yet she made it to the headquarters of the Flying Tigers, the American pilots flying for China. She made it to safety.

That was yesteryear. Today, she meets me in the lobby of my apartment building in Minnesota and tells me she's mean.