Bus stop Memories

Bus stop Memories By Nathan Welty [e-mail]




It was a cold November evening, and the numbing wind sent goose-pimples up and down my arms and legs as I sat on the hard wood bench at the bus stop. My old blue button-fly cut offs, faded from the use they had endured over the years offered no protection from the cool, icy air. The thin cotton tee-shirt I had on that afternoon was blowing wildly in the chilling gust.

The street lights, combined with the moon and stars, barely gave me enough visibility to see my watch, on the coal-black darkness.

Suddenly, a drop of water fell onto my black digital watch, and a peal of thunder and lightning brightened up the dark, inky sky with a horrific boom. As the world lit up for a brief instant, I saw a figure writhing in the cold November rain.

At that moment I looked down at myself and realized I was hardly wearing anything. My clothes were soaked; they clung so close to my body. It was almost as if I had no shirt on.

Looking back at the person in the street, who was now sending up a strange looking silhouette on a huge, run down and deserted building - via a street light, I could now determine that the outline I saw was that of a female in a long coat.

I now knew that the girl or woman, I could not tell from the distance I was at, was not writhing on the ground, but in actuality was dancing, yes dancing. I could hardly believe it myself, yet I could see a part of me as a young child in this stranger, racing outside into the pouring rain, ignoring the noise of the thunder and the lightning, and just letting the world slip away as I stomped and trampled all my cares and worries into the cold, hard, cement.

I was almost sorry to see my bus come. Though I was cold and wet, seeing the girl dancing in the rain had kept me warm.