ELEANOR

         Eleanor’s small feet cut a direct path through the crowd of shoppers as she rushed toward the mall exit. The scowl on her keen, diminutive face made plain her dissatisfaction with the aimless children that bounced cleanly off her as she passed. Her shoulder-length, silver-gray hair swept directly up and then back in uniform curves from her forehead as though she styled it for an aerodynamic advantage. She walked hurriedly with her arms held stiffly at her sides, clutching her purse as though someone might try to make off with its contents.
         As Eleanor burst though the double doors into the bright sunlight, she felt a familiar rush course through her body and out the ends of her trembling hands. It was like a single, great inhalation of cigarette smoke after a long plane flight. But Eleanor was not a smoker. She finally exhaled and probed at the sides of her purse to see if it was still inside. She felt its form through the fabric. As quickly as the adrenaline had flooded her body, it drained away to be replaced by a wave of guilt as she pressed herself against the side of the building for support. I can’t believe I let it happen again crept into her conscience. Why wasn’t the clerk paying closer attention? When the guilt finally exhausted her trembling frame, she began to wonder what in the world she would tell Jack and the children this time.