what the world needs now...

"Fusty old woman."

The voice behind me whispered with prepense as to both plead ignorance and intent.  I spun quickly, nearly knocking the young woman over with my pocketbook. 

"Excuse me?  Say again?"

"Oy, so your deaf as well, are you?"

 "Oh no.  I heard you very well, and despite your whisper, I'm certain you meant for me to hear you.  If you've something to say, say it to my face."

The girl suddenly shrunk in size as her friends began to laugh at her, and I could sense that her bravado in front of them was nothing more than a fraud.  Her clothes were unclean, her hair looked as if rats were nesting in it, and she had the appearance of someone who was living on the street.

She looked down at her shoes, once white sneakers were now a filthy looking mouse grey color.  She didn't want to appear weak in front of her friends, but she was unsure of what to say or do next.  I had an urge to be a little more clement with her.

"I suppose you are unaware that the word fusty has more than one meaning.  Can you tell me if you meant to say that I was old-fashioned, or that I stunk?"

She looked up at me, eyes wide and surprised at the opening I was handing her.

"I, uh, I caught wind of your perfume, and it made me think of my dead granny.  So, I guess I meant that you stunk."

Behind her, her friends were giving each other high-fives at what they felt was her come back low blow to me.  I winked at her.

"Hmm, yes, I do suppose it has worn out its welcome.  It is actually a scent my grandfather gave to my grandmother when I was a child.  I wear it sometimes to cope when I miss her, like today, but it might have gone bad after all this time.  What do you do when you miss your grandmother?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and I could tell it was more than just her grandmother she missed.  Her friends lost interest in the turn of the conversation and went off to tease and harass someone else down the street.

"I tell you what.  I was just about to have breakfast this morning at the restaurant across the street.  What if you join me, my treat, and tell me all about your grandmother and I can tell you all about mine.  Today would have been her 118th birthday, and I think she would like it if you joined me to celebrate her life.  My name is Ella, and I was named after her.  What's your name?"

She looked across the street at the five-star Michelin restaurant I had pointed to, then back at me, eyes wider than before and tears freely falling now.  She nodded slowly.

"My name is Ella too."

Joining in with Words for Wednesday, the prompts can be found [here] and above in bold italics.