Classic Carnation #10
I hadn't taken a trip on a bus in ten years, hadn't heard the squeaking of tires, hadn't seen the puffs of exhaust fumes sail into the skies. I sit at the bus stop positioned next to the job that payed my way through college and graduate school. The job that got me an entry level job which allowed me to climb to the top of the corporate ladder in no time. So as a chief executive officer of this company, I sat at a bus stop waiting for my ride.
We'd met here. My car had broken down and I had taken shelter in the bus stop from the pouring rain to wait for a friend to come pick me up. He was an older man with gentle eyes and a kind smile framed with a little stubble. A ratted old ball cap on his head, he offered me a handkerchief from the pocket of a fairly new jacket.
"It's cold out there."
"That's the understatement of the century. It's freezing."
"Last of storms in late fall. What'd you expect it to be? Balmy? This isn't Florida, Miss."
"No, it's the Pacific Northwest, and as for what I expected, well, I expected the heat of my car." I grinned. "Oh, and the name's Dolores. Dolores McGovren."
"And I'm Nathaniel. Nathaniel Smith."
We shook hands and became instant friends. Nathaniel worked for some networking company nearby doing a job I couldn't quite understand despite his many attempts to teach me. We began meeting every Wednesday at the bus stop and would grab lunch at a little hole in the wall place that was Nathaniel's favorite. Soon, we were recognized as regulars and our waitress, Sally, would have our drinks and appetizer on table the moment we got there.
Over our lunches, he became a second father to me. When I graduated with my bachelor's degree, he gave me a goldfish. "You gotta learn responsibility for others, sweet pea. It's about taking care of others this whole experiment of life."
It became a proverbial joke of ours. On his birthday I got him a cake shaped like a goldfish. For Christmas, I received a stuffed goldfish. Father's Day, he received a box of Goldfish crackers, and on my wedding day he gave me a necklace with a goldfish charm. I wore it at all times.
I was fingering it when I boarded the bus to our favorite little luncheonette. I sat quietly in a back booth and ate my usual before hopping a taxi to the cathedral. I sat in the back and cried for him as they carried him past. In the graveyard, I said my last good-bye.
I went back to the bus stop. I've been sitting here for hours, fingering the charm, hiding again from the rain.
We'd met here. My car had broken down and I had taken shelter in the bus stop from the pouring rain to wait for a friend to come pick me up. He was an older man with gentle eyes and a kind smile framed with a little stubble. A ratted old ball cap on his head, he offered me a handkerchief from the pocket of a fairly new jacket.
"It's cold out there."
"That's the understatement of the century. It's freezing."
"Last of storms in late fall. What'd you expect it to be? Balmy? This isn't Florida, Miss."
"No, it's the Pacific Northwest, and as for what I expected, well, I expected the heat of my car." I grinned. "Oh, and the name's Dolores. Dolores McGovren."
"And I'm Nathaniel. Nathaniel Smith."
We shook hands and became instant friends. Nathaniel worked for some networking company nearby doing a job I couldn't quite understand despite his many attempts to teach me. We began meeting every Wednesday at the bus stop and would grab lunch at a little hole in the wall place that was Nathaniel's favorite. Soon, we were recognized as regulars and our waitress, Sally, would have our drinks and appetizer on table the moment we got there.
Over our lunches, he became a second father to me. When I graduated with my bachelor's degree, he gave me a goldfish. "You gotta learn responsibility for others, sweet pea. It's about taking care of others this whole experiment of life."
It became a proverbial joke of ours. On his birthday I got him a cake shaped like a goldfish. For Christmas, I received a stuffed goldfish. Father's Day, he received a box of Goldfish crackers, and on my wedding day he gave me a necklace with a goldfish charm. I wore it at all times.
I was fingering it when I boarded the bus to our favorite little luncheonette. I sat quietly in a back booth and ate my usual before hopping a taxi to the cathedral. I sat in the back and cried for him as they carried him past. In the graveyard, I said my last good-bye.
I went back to the bus stop. I've been sitting here for hours, fingering the charm, hiding again from the rain.
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