Today, as I was walking along the way, I saw her again. Yes, there she was — I saw her yesterday, too. And perhaps, almost certainly, I will see her tomorrow.
She’s always somewhere. She haunts me. I turn the corner, there she is — Eleanor.
As I reach for my box of Cheerios in the air-conditioned supermarket, I hear them singing about her on the radio — Eleanor… Eleanor Rigby.
I do not escape her.
Sometimes she fools me with disguises, and at first I do not realize it is really her. She dresses like the teller at my bank; she talks politely and smiles. And then I catch that familiar look in her eyes and I realize — it’s her, it’s Eleanor.
Or sometimes at a party, everyone seems so happy — she’s the center of the crowd, talking loudly and laughing, but then she turns her back for a moment and I catch a glimpse of that look on her face and I realize again — it’s Eleanor. She’s wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door. She’s trying to be someone else again. Sometimes she may even fool me completely and I never realize that I am talking with her.
She has many faces...
Perhaps you’ve noticed her, too. Perhaps you have caught a glimpse of her pale, sad face peering at you from behind her curtains as you passed her home. Perhaps you know her. Does she haunt you, too?