Norma Jeanne

There is a small woman in the house accross and to the left of mine. I have only seen her face once. But her shadow is very familiar. I come home from work, sometimes very late and I see her patient sillouette in the window. She never falters, her gaze set intently on the knob of the door. She must be very old, although in the window she does not age a day. Her shadow is as fresh as the day she got it. Some say she does not eat, or sleep. She just waits, slowly breathing, watching the door, day in and out. This is the life of Norma Jeanne.