Ms. Beezeworth was a kind soul, loved by most people in the town. She baked all sorts of desserts and casseroles for town meetings, assisted the community, basically did everything she could to make the town she loved even better. At the same time, she was a badass if you crossed her, and could seriously mess you up. The gunshot from that night my leg got torn open? Pretty sure that was her. She was a WW2 widow, so she lived alone. I helped her out as much as I could, as did a lot of people. We'd visit her and talk with her, make her food or tea, go with her to shop, that kind of thing. Ms. Beezeworth wasn't the only person the town helped like that, but I didn't do anything for the others much. She died in '69 sadly. I miss her, hearing her stories about the depression or the war, about growing up in the 1910's and 20's. I suppose I'm like her now, alone and telling stories to the youth. Funny how life works like that, like a cycle. Interesting.
- Trevor
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AuthorTrevor Magnil Archives
November 2021
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