I absentmindedly gaze at the cinderblock apartment across the road from the bus stop, as one by one, the lights go on. The ones in the apartment on the fourth floor need fixing, they’re flickering now. The silhouettes in the flat blink in and out of existence, and I wonder what they do. A car honking snaps me out of my reverie, and I nervously smooth my dress, trying to look preoccupied. I raise my left hand before I remember that I’ve forgotten my watch at home, and now that I think about it, also my jacket.
I shiver slightly wondering if it will be a particularly cold night and how long I will be out. I am lulled again by the droning hum of traffic, of people going home, to wife, husband, kids, pets or last night’s takeout, that they forgot to throw away in the morning rush. I eye each car, expecting one to screech to a stop in front of me. But I should know what to expect by now. He is late, as he always is. I’m almost tempted to sit on the bus bench behind me, but there’s a man sitting there, waiting like me. He has flowers with him, full and red.
I watch as the woman selling rustic toys packs her table for the day. No luck today. She has been here for as long as I can remember, and I don’t think anyone has ever even glanced back at her. She makes a desolate figure in the gathering twilight, under the autumn tree, the whole scene coloured an unnatural yellow by the street lamps.
Eventually, I sit down, my knees aching. There have been countless times I have waited right here. I have watched the lady selling toys pack up for the night many times, her toys untouched on most days. She’s not here now. The streetlamp colours the leaves of the tree she sets up under a neon yellow.
I have waited here and watched so many people pass by. I remember one time, a man with roses, who reminded me so much of the first time I met him. I raise my left hand absentmindedly and remember I’ve forgotten my watch, again. But at least I won’t need a jacket. It’s going to be a warm night. I sit awhile and let the hum of the cars wash over me, lulling me into a trance. I imagine a sharp honk will wake me, and he’ll get out of the car, late as always. But it’s dark now, and it’s been some time. I don’t look back anymore, even though I did then, like I did the first time I met him, trying to remember the back of his head.
Dreamer of improbable dreams 