The Old Lady and the Bracelet

Dear Old Lady with the bracelet:

I'm sorry that for a moment, when I saw you, standing in the doorway of the trash room, I thought you were homeless. My heart momentarily lurched into my stomach, when I imagined the conversation I might have with a homeless person occupying the trash room.

Then you smiled and I remembered that you live here. We've had a conversation. I'm sorry that I forgot.

When you asked me for a favor, I couldn't help the irritation - creeping up my neck... I couldn't help thinking: Why me?

But then you held out your tarnished gold bracelet, a delicate string of knots and braids.

Could I please help you put it on?

As my fingers struggled to join the tiny clasp, I listened to your story:

This was a bracelet from an old friend. Tonight I am meeting her for dinner, and I want to wear the bracelet. I couldn't put on the bracelet myself. So I waited inside the trash room until someone nice came along. 

I'm sorry that when you asked me if it was raining out, I could not think of an answer.

I was wondering what led you here, waiting in the trash room, for someone to help you with your bracelet.

I was wondering what happened to your husband. Was there ever one?

I was wondering what it felt like to be your kind of lonely. What it felt like to be - alone. 

I wanted to ask you if you were alright. I wanted to invite you up for coffee. I wanted to know if you are the one who leaves the old, dusty, books in the lobby. Sometimes I read them.

But instead I told you "no, it's not raining" and pulled my lips into a tight smile.

I released your tiny wrist from my hands.

Old Lady with the bracelet, what is your name?