The Old Woman

Reeeeaaaaally old writing!

10/31/11

The old woman bowed her head courteously and the young gentleman did the same. She turned, reaching thin, tired limbs out to the bulky coffee door. The young man came forward and held it open as she walked on through. In fact, he could have taken the door off its very hinges for the energy his heart beat within.

Two skips forward and he too was out the door and on the cold afternoon pavement. As he began his way to the job he was no longer willing to accept he felt one last urge to turn and wave to the woman. She too, was looking his way and gave one more warm hearted smile. Her bony hand came up and waved him off and his spirit swelled in his chest once again.

And the brakes of transit bus 105 began to screech as the old woman stepped out and onto the black wave of gravel road. The young sir stared at those calm, collected eyes as they were swept away and people let out cries of terror and surprise. He watched as the bus jerked to a standstill and the body rolled out from beneath. The blood was just as she’d described her favorite ruby chrysanthemums and he raced to her side instinctively.

As people gathered round, the bus driver went into a panic and calls were made to 911 the young man set his brown leather case down, took off his worn hat and cradled her paper hand as a grandchild would on his grandparent’s deathbed. Of course, she was already gone, but her calm and cool expression remained ever visible. He stared into her sea-blue eyes once more and cried.