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The Last Bus on Marrow Street
dramaEveryone6 contributors · 4 paragraphs deep
She shows me her phone. Photo of an old woman. Red coat. Smiling. 'My grandmother. She was supposed to pick me up. She loves this route. She rides it every winter.' Past tense. Loves. 'Was?'
She died last winter. The last winter. She took the bus one last time. She must have.' I remember. Not her face. Not her name. But I remember a woman in a red coat, winter after winter, always alone, always riding to the Elm Street stop and nowhere else. I remember now that I knew nothing about her.
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