“I Eloped During the Russian Revolution.”

All rights @ Klaus Wright. Image description: The Hermitage Museum illuminated at night as seen from Palace Square. White columns and window frames against the pale yellow former palace stand out against a blue night sky. The massive museum and tremendous entrance arch reflect off rain-slick ground.

“I eloped during the Russian Revolution,” the old woman told me, smiling. “I was 16.”

“I have so many stories to tell you.”

I was 16 myself when this woman I didn’t know reached out and took me by the arm.

But I never listened.

I was a teenager waitressing in an old folks home after school. I always waitressed the front half of the dining room and had only walked by her section once. She was pretty. I remember long, thick white hair.

One evening she grabbed my elbow and asked me if I was a cheerleader.

“No,” I told her proudly. I was close-minded and insecure, a wannabe academic. I was gravely offended by the question, believing at the time that one couldn’t possibly be smart and a cheerleader.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she warned me. “You won’t be skinny forever.”

I gaped at her and blubbered something defensive.

Back then I was completely overwhelmed with work and school. My body was just on a conveyor belt hurtling me from one obligation to the next. I always meant to visit the young Russian bride but I never did.

Her name was Barbara.

What might she have told me if I had carved out even just a half-hour? I should…