I have viewed her as someone whom the story has been sucked out of by time and desperation .
I imagine her youthful state, full of beauty and wit. An interesting personality, not in the known of the future but living in the present.
A library of novels, borrowed and bought. Flunked by a little wealth, giving way to snobbery. Not pride. Pride has to be deep-seated.
Waiting deepened those qualities only more from lovable and enviable to a quarter of lovable.
As the other people grew they each learned to love the extreme flatness of their nose and the flabiness of their lips, their slow rate of understanding . They learned to live and expand in love. Not caring much for the one who had everything.
The one who had everything waited for the one true thing she really wanted while all others with their windows wound up sped up clouds of smoke to leave her coughing by the wheels.