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The Last Bus on Marrow Street
dramaEveryone6 contributors · 4 paragraphs deep
I open the door. She gets on slowly. Wet. Cold. Sits right behind me. For a few blocks, nothing. Then: 'You don't remember me.' Not a question. I check the mirror. 'Should I?'
I don't recognize her. She feels this. The bus goes quiet except for the sleet. 'I ride every winter to remember someone,' she finally says. 'Does that make sense?' It doesn't, but I nod.
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Two blocks later she gets off. But before she does: 'Thank you for coming back for me.' I didn't. I came back and then left. She smiles like I did something right. She leaves. I was wrong about something huge and I'll never know what.
TE
Tomas Eklund
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