So I stand in the cold, and wait for that bus to arrive. You know the one, its the one we've all been waiting for. The bench is filled up with others who are waiting as well, and Im left with no where to sit. I stand in their midst, anonymous and brimming with thoughts. None of my fellow waiters take a notice, and I look around at the sad group. People with bags and worries, people with sad drooping faces, people with sticky little children hands squeezing and tugging for the next shiny toy.
Seems we've been waitin for ages now. Cars stream by and the wind and exhaust whips at my chapped face. Meanwhile my mind races with my personal struggles, my degree that doesnt seem to want to get done, my family that doesn't seem to want to stay together, my bills, my emtpy apartment filled with ghosts of something I almost had.
Its getting late and still we're here. Times rushes at us and then departs, the sun wishes us goodbye all too quickly and before I can raise my tired eyes to bid her farewell the silent night is stealing the sky and drinking up the waning light like a whiskey shot, greedy and shaking slightly.
A small puff of vapor creates a small cloud in front of me and then vanishes into nothing. I run my hand through it and pretend it to be warm steam of my moms' chicken soup rising from a heavy bowl filled with hearty goodness of carefree memories. I blink and realize maybe it never really was carefree at all, merely a small retreat for my heart to rest in, a small patch of island amid the drudgery of the present. Maybe not so pleasant at all, merely pleasantly forgotten.
A rustle goes through the group and we all look up. A beam of light makes its way steadily toward us and we lift our eyes, excitement abounding. The children grow quieter, and the droopy faces seem to gain some lift. I stand a bit taller, the relief lifts an invisible load off my shoulders. All too soon I realize that we have made a mistake in the rush towards hope fulfilled. The bus is not ours, and it rolls slowly onward into the night. I sigh, and settle back into my corner.
I hope the bus comes soon, theres only so much I can stand.
2 comments:
Your writing is evocative.
Wow. I love this one, Ahuva, and can really realte. When I was sixteen I wrote something about waiting in a train station for my life to begin. Of course it was not neerly so beautiful as this (more with the angst, less with the lovely imagery), but the basic feeling was the same, I think. For such a perky person you sure do write depressing stuff :-).
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