Celia Kaye stumbled to the bus stop, her purse tucked between her arm and hip, and an umbrella in her other hand. The rain was pouring down on her, and it seemed it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She slide onto the bench, that conveniently was under the overhang of the bus stop. There was another person at the far end of the bench; an old man in a raincoat that was far too big for him. But she took no notice to him. Instead, she fumbled onto her phone that held rain drops on it’s screen. She then took the sleeve of her coat and wiped it off before responding to her husband, Hank’s text.
She did not notice the old man peering over at her, curiously.
It had almost been ten minutes when she finally took attention to the man. “Excuse me,” she said. He glanced over at her — his face, she noticed — was so tired, but kind. Very kind. “Do you know the time the bus comes? My husband is getting worried.” She laughed nervously. “I, uh — I usually don’t ride this late, you see.” The old man smiled, and nodded to himself. He was quiet for a moment, seemly to be collecting his thoughts.
“It should be here in…oh, let’s say…20 minutes at the most, dear.” She gave him a thankful nod, and went back to her phone. The old man continued to look towards her. And this time, she did take notice.
“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” She joked. Perhaps, he just wants to talk, she thought. He sure doesn’t seem like one of those mad old men, right? She nodded. Yes. Right. She was right. At least, until she could make a better observation.
The old man choked out a laugh, Celia was somewhat startled by it. “Quite so, my dear. But we need the rain in this drought.” He paused. “My wife always loved the rain. I never could understand exactly why…” His face grew sad. The lines in his face deepened. She felt a pang of sympathy for the old man. She couldn’t imagine a day without her Hank–
She shook her head. No. She mustn’t think of that.
They fell silent. She wasn’t sure what to say without saddening the old man. He glanced over at her again, this time her eyes met his. She quickly looked away. The old man grunted. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
She shook her head, “No, no…it’s fine–”
“You just remind me so much of Alice, my wife. She looked a lot like you in her younger days. Same eyes.” The old man looked down. The street was being drummed with water that streamed down it’s sides. Celia remained silent. I guess that makes sense, she thought. But I can’t help it being a bit uncomfortable…
“Yes, I was young once too, dear.” The old man whispered. His eyes now stared out in the distance. He was lost in his own memories. He mouth tugged at a small smile. “I was a such a prick back then, dare I say. Thank God for Alice. She fixed me up good.” He laughed. Then his mouth went to a frown. Celia waited to finish, but he was quiet. Then an idea hit her.
“Tell me a story,” she told him, a kind smile on her face. “A nice story. I could use one of those right now, mister. This weather is bringing out both down, it seems.” The old man returned her smile.
“I like your thinking, deary. Let’s see…a story, you say?” She nodded. “What a great way to pass the time.” He muttered to himself. Then his face brightened. “Ah!” Celia glanced at him curiously. The old man pushed up his sleeves. A good story he will tell. A very good one. One that would only fit a raining day like this.
Simple Writing; 