A YOUNG WOMAN AT THE BUS STOP

     A young woman sat at a bus stop. She was wearing a light-colored dress and cradled her purse in her lap. In front of her, traffic on the busy four-lane city street was hopelessly restless and chaotic. She sat quiet and still, an oasis of calm.

     I hadn’t noticed her until about mid-morning. The the typical early rush at the hardware store where I work, which was across the street from the bus stop, kept me from spending much time looking out the window. By 10:00, customers had tapered off and I could gaze on the outside world.

     Buses came and went. People boarded and exited. Yet the young woman kept sitting there, unruffled and serene. Even from afar I could detect a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes.

     At 11:00, the lunchtime crowd began invading the store, picking up odds and ends. It wasn’t until around 1:00 that I, once more, found myself with some time on my hands. I looked through the window and, across the street, saw the woman still sitting peacefully. As she’d been at the bus stop since before ten I was a little concerned. Perhaps she was from another country and was confused. I left the store, crossed the street, and took a seat by her.

     “Excuse me, ma’am. I work in the store across the street and noticed you sitting here quite a while. Are you okay?”

     The woman was perhaps in her mid-twenties and very pretty. I noticed she had a wedding ring on her finger.

     “Oh, yes. I’m just fine. Thank you for your concern, though. I’m waiting for someone. I told him I’d be here, waiting at this bus stop. He couldn’t tell me when he might get here and I told him that was quite okay. I’d wait.”

     “Could I get you some water? Maybe a sandwich?”

     “Thank you, no.”

     “Well, if you need anything, I’m right across the street.”

     She brushed some stray hairs from her face and smiled. “That’s very nice of you. I don’t think I’ll need anything.” One of her feet moved rhythmically as if she was singing some song in her head.

     I said goodbye and went back to work. As I entered, I looked back at the young woman. Everything about her seemed kind of dated. She looked like a traditional young housewife, perhaps mother, of the fifties or early sixties.She reminded me in a way of my mother, who was at the tail end of the tradition where women dressed to go out, even if only to the grocery store. This woman was prettier than my mother and more polished, but her general appearance was the same.

     The third big wave of customers came into the store about an hour before closing at 5:00. I told my boss about the woman, but he never much cared about anything except the store and customers. When I mentioned she’d been sitting at the bus stop all day, he didn’t even bother to look over. He just said, “Well, everybody’s got to be somewhere.”

     I was starving. I’d had a skimpy breakfast and sandwich at lunch and was eager for a good supper. When I left the store for the day, I saw the woman still sitting. I again crossed over to check on her.

     “Are you sure the person you’re waiting for is coming?”

     “I’m quite sure, yes.”

     “You must be hungry. Can I get you something?”

     “You are most kind, but I really don’t need a thing.”

     “I’d advise you not to to stay here too much longer. After about six-thirty, things kind of dry up around here and a new crowd begins showing up, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I’ll have been gone quite a while before six-thirty.”

     “You take care of yourself.”

     “I shall. Thank you, son.”

     Son? I was old enough to be her father. Maybe it was the eternal boy scout in me she noticed. I couldn’t get over how polite and pleasant she was. It was hard to imagine her sitting on that bench all day in this industrial neighborhood. Whoever she was waiting for had to be pretty special.

     I crossed back over the street and headed north. My grumbling stomach was set on a meatloaf dinner with peas and carrots and lumpy mashed potatoes with gravy. Shortly after I turned the corner, I ran into my friend, Billy. I hadn't expected to see him in this neighborhood.

     “Billy boy, good to see you. It’s been a while. What brings you to this part of town?”

     “Good to see you, too, Johnny. I’ve just finished up with a client who called me in at the last minute. He wanted to go over some details of a new building I designed that’s going up over on 4^th Street. Say, I hate to dash but I’m supposed to meet someone I’ve been wanting to see all day.”

     “I understand. Please say hello to Helen for me.”

     “Sure.”

      Billy walked briskly down the street toward the corner. My mind got confused. Supposed to meet someone?

     I turned around and hurried to the corner. Just as I reached it, I saw the young woman at the bus stop rise from the bench and, with her purse draped across her shoulder, open her arms as if to greet someone with a hug. Suddenly, I heard screeching brakes. My friend Billy was trying to cross the street when a truck ran a red light and struck him. He was thrown several yards and landed on the sidewalk.

     I ran toward him. He was unconscious and bleeding from his head. Immediately, everyone around began calling on their cellphones—I assumed 911. I decided to call Billy’s wife, Helen. I told her where the accident had taken place. She said she’d be right there.

An ambulance arrived quickly. The paramedics examined Billy and covered him up. They were placing him in the ambulance when Helen arrived.

     A paramedic broke the news to her.I figured she'd go into hysterics, but she simply looked dazed and numb. I put my arm around her as she stood on the sidewalk. He mentioned that Billy would be taken to the hospital. The driver whose truck ran the red light came up to Helen. He was in tears as he nervously attempted some sort of apology. “The brakes just all of a sudden failed and I couldn’t swerve in the traffic.”  She patted his hand before he walked away to talk further with the police.

     “Helen, let me drive you to the hospital.” She just stood there, not wanting to move. I told her to take all the time she needed. The paramedic returned and I mentioned I’d look after her.

     Helen was silent for a while. When she finally spoke, I was surprised at what she said. I guessed she hadn't processed things yet.
.

     “He was so happy this morning. Happier than I’d seen him in a long time. When I asked him why he had such a big grin on his face, all he could say was, ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I’m going to see my mother today.’”

I thought to myself. That must be who he said he was meeting. But, the woman at the bus stop. She couldn’t have been his mother. She was in her twenties and Billy had to be in his early to mid fifties.

     I looked at Helen. She was still holding together quite well but seemed in no hurry to leave the scene. Through her numbness she spoke slowly and quietly. “I couldn’t understand. Billy’s mother died when he was only five. I know he never stopped missing her. We frequently visited the cemetery where she and his father are buried. He often went by himself. He always put fresh flowers on her grave. Sometimes he even sang a silly song she taught him. I think it was called, ‘I’m Waiting at the Bus Stop.’ I guess I thought that’s what he meant. He was going to the cemetery. I still couldn’t understand his unusually happy face. He left before we could talk about it.”

     Helen took a deep breath and pulled her hands through her hair. She turned towards me and I saw she'd been crying, even before I'd made the call. “Johnny, I was seventeen when Billy and I got married. He was forty. People said it would never work and that he was trying to recapture his youth. They were wrong about the first thing. We did make it work. They were right about the second, but not in the way they thought.”

     The ambulance pulled away. Helen followed it with her eyes as it disappeared into rush hour traffic. “Don’t get me wrong, Johnny. I love Billy with all my heart. I just was never in love with him. He rescued me from a really bad family situation. I thanked my lucky stars every day.” She put her hand to her mouth and almost smiled. “He loved me as much as he could". Then she looked down the street where the ambulance had gone. “He just couldn’t give me his whole heart. With very year that passed I knew that more and more. Most of his heart was still attached to his mother. His father had a couple of girlfriends but never remarried. And I’m not sure that would have made a difference.” 

     Her face was starting to quiver as it moved from shock to the beginnings of grief just as the day was moving into evening. “He just never got over her.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pants pocket. It was already moist as she blotted her eyes."I'm ready to go to the hospital now, I think."

     I knew that somehow, the woman at the bus stop had to be Billy’s mother. I’d seen her. I’d talked to her. Maybe that’s why she looked like a young woman from the 1950s or 60s. I couldn’t bring myself to tell this to Helen. Perhaps he missed his mother so much, he really thought she’d be waiting for him at the bus stop.

     With that thought, I looked over at the stop. It was vacant. My eyes traveled down the sidewalk. In the distance, I saw my friend Billy. With him was the young woman I’d seen at the bus stop. She was holding his hand as they walked away. They were looking at each other and I imagined big smiles on their faces.