This was the first story that I wrote with the new pen I got for Christmas. It's a bit shorter than the other stories are but I think it says what needed to be said. Hope someone enjoys.
The Passengers
She had retired several years ago. Her
back was healing and the doctors told her that her lungs were
beginning to clear out. She was glad that she was doing well but she
was fully convinced that it did not matter. She was so much older
now. She would often look down at her wrinkled leather like hands and
wonder where the time had gone. She enjoyed every moment she had
left, or at least she tried to. When she was not at church she could
be found at the local soup kitchen or at home knitting for the
shelter. She had very little herself but always gave what she could.
She always recognized that no matter how little she had there were so
many more with so much less. She never complained;neither did the
people she helped.
Today was a soup kitchen day. She
awoke early and got ready for the busy day. She arrived at the
kitchen shortly before noon and the large lunch rush. The people were
lined out the door and around the corner anxiously awaiting in their
torn and tattered garments. They were always busier in the colder
months, and today was the coldest day that she could remember since
he was a small girl. She threw on an apron and marched through the
double doors ladle in hand.
By the end of the day nearly five
hundred had been fed. It was a small percentage of the cities
homeless but she knew that she could not force them all to come; some
just couldn't deal with the embarrassment. She had grown tired from
the days work and opted out of the walk home and decided instead to
take the bus. She did not particularly fancy growing old but what she
did fancy was the reduced fair that the bus offered her. The bus was
quite quiet that night most of the city had decided to stash
themselves inside away from the frigged cold.
On the slower nights the bus was much
quicker. As they barreled past the empty stops she felt her eyelids
grow heavy. In the moment that she felt herself drifting into another
world she felt the bus jolt to an abrupt stop. It was not her stop
though. She heard the front doors open and watched as a young woman
climbed aboard. The young lady fumbled through her purse for a moment
or two before victoriously discovering her bus pass buried deep
within; she gave it a quick swipe and headed for the back of the bus.
The old woman found herself jumping
awake at the sound of the voice, “excuse me miss would it be
alright if I sat here?” She must have dozed off in the several
seconds it took the woman to walk back to her. She remembered
dreaming something, a micro-dream, but it was lost now, never to be
thought of again. She opened her eyes and looked up at the young lady
standing beside her.
“ Oh I'm so sorry,” Started the
younger woman, she was a pretty girl, some might even say beautiful,
her hair was light and golden and her skin was like that of
porcelain, “ I didn't mean to wake you, I just though that it was a
nice evening for a chat, wouldn't you agree? It's just that nobody
ever talks to each other anymore. They all run around from place to
place on their phones or with their headphones in,” she stopped
momentarily then, “I'm sorry I'm rambling aren’t I?
A smile had found it's way onto the
old woman's face, “it's quite alright dear,” she said giving the
seat beside her a friendly pat, “have a seat.” She sat beside the
old woman, both pausing trying to think of what to say next. Youth
and beauty and age and wisdom side by side.
“My name is Rose by the way,” said
the younger woman to the elder.
“Why Hello Rose, my name is Helen,
very nice to meet you. Heading home are we?” She ended this
sentence as she did with all she ever spoke, with a gentle hum mixed
with a slight cough.
“No Ma'am just going out with a few
drinks with a small group of friends.”
Helen sat back in her seat and looked
out the window beside her , out into the dark and cold, “I often
forget what it was like, to be so young,” her glance shifted back
towards Rose, “and you can call me Helen dear, no Ma'am stuff
here!” she said diligently.
“Of course, sorry Ma'... er Helen.”
“So headed for a night out on the
town are ya dear? Might I be so bold as to ask,” she added with a
smile, “might there be a man in the crowd?”
“I'm afraid not,” replied Rose, “I
don't really have time for that sort of thing.”
Helen gave a stern glare from beneath
her coke bottle glasses, “nonsense dearie, you're young and
beautiful. Take advantage of that while you still can, before it
passes you by.”
“Truth be told,” began Rose, “I
never was much of the social type. I mostly spend my time working.
Even now the friends I'm going to meet are all work buddies. We make
it a point to go out as a group once a week. It helps relieve the
stress of work.”
“Well that's a start,” chuckled
Helen, “what is it exactly that you do?” There was a momentary
pause, just short enough not to be awkward before Rose answered.
“I suppose you could say I work in a
retirement home.”
“An old folks home,” corrected
Helen, “never saw the use in those,” she wheezed.
Rose gave a laugh and carried on, “I
help with incoming residents, help then get settled in and make sure
that everything is in order. My other friends, they all do the same.”
“Why that's an awfully kind thing of
you to do. The people who need help the most are the most unlikely to
ask, they are too afraid to ask for help, too ashamed. It's nice to
meet someone who cares so much for others.”
“It's not much, I do what I can,”
said Rose shyly, “how about you, what does Helen do?”
'I'm afraid Helen doesn't do much of
anything. I make a weekly trip to over to the soup kitchen to help
out, and I make it a point to stop at the library every Wednesday but
other than that I fill my time with waiting.”
“Waiting?” inquired Rose.
“Yes dear waiting. Waiting to rejoin
my blessed husband.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Oh nothing dear, forget I said a
word,” Helen turned back towards the window and away from the young
pretty girl beside her. One way or another she always managed to
close herself in from others, she thought it was for the best, at
least that what she told herself.
“Helen it's quite alright, you can
tell me whatever is on your mind. Granted I'm a complete stranger but
that only makes it all the better. You can tell me whatever you wish
and chances are once I step off this bus I will never see you again.”
Rose's voice was soft and gentle. She always had a gift for making
people open up to her, to trusting her. She was not nosey though, she
just cared, with all of her beating heart she cared.
Helen's eyes shifted from the window
to the floor, then in a low nervous whisper, “I'm old, all of a
sudden I'm so old. I don't know where it all went, my life. It just
went away day by day. If I could I would go back in a second, trade
it all for the past. You hit a certain age, a certain point and you
just know it, you are dying, actually dying. You just need to learn
to accept it I suppose.” She never lifted her eyes, afraid the tear
contained in the corner of her eye would fall before the young woman
and upset her. Her words had left Rose colder than any of the winter
winds had managed.
“Everyone is dying Helen, even me.
It's up to us to make the most of the life we are given. It is up to
us to lead the life we wish to lead.”
“I suppose you are right dear. Some
days it's just so hard to smile, to go on.”
Rose took her hand and placed it
gently over Helen's, “but you must. You have so much to give. You
help so many and ask for nothing in return, you have made a
difference for so many. I would say that that is a life well spent.”
“They are they ones who have helped
me Rose. After my husband died I though I had lost everything but
those people that I serve have showed me what it truly means to lose
everything.” Helen gave a faint smile and moved her hand to search
for the button to request her stop.
“Thank you dear. It's so nice to
speak with someone. I always feel as if I'm burdening someone with my
problems but with you its different.
Rose
stood from her seat to let Helen pass out and into the aisle. The bus
came to it's usual jumpy stop and the doors gave way to the awaiting
cold. Helen was about to get off when she heard, “Just remember
Helen, the people who need help the most are the most unlikely to ask
for it. Don't be afraid to ask.”
Helen's weak bones
made getting off the bus a painful task but she managed all the same.
She turned to give her new found friend a wave but when she turned
she saw only an empty seat,“Don't be afraid to ask,” she repeated
to herself. Her old and tired body carried her home and into her bed,
there she laid and there she remembered what she had dreamed.
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