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The Last Bus on Marrow Street
dramaEveryone6 contributors · 3 paragraphs deep
I pull up at the next light. Turn around? For what? But I do. U-turn. I drive back to Elm and Third. She's still there. Waiting. Her hand doesn't go up. Her eyes just... watch. She knows I came back.
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?'
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She leans forward. 'You gave me a seat once. 1995. I was just visiting my grandmother. You were kind. She remembered that. Every winter, she took your bus because you were kind.' I pull over and stop driving.
SV
Sasha Volkov
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