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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1454976-The-Daisy
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Romance/Love · #1454976
Girl is depressed, boy is lonely. They meet by chance. What happens?
She couldn't have done it any worse. This was the most miserable week of her entire life. She wished she could just curl up and die. Die in this lonely, cold, dark apartment.
Why couldn't he just love her. She had tried everything in a woman's bag of tricks to catch him, but he remained uncatchable.
Today was the worst. She had literally thrown herself at him without hesitation. He looked at her like she was an idiot. The entire staff was laughing at her. She was desperate. She was stupid. She was fat. She was ugly.
The mirrors of her apartment were covered, as usual. Except the one in the bathroom. That's where she applied her make-up. Carefully. It took her two hours every morning to get it just right.
Her exercise bike and treadmill. The best on the market. The most expensive too. That was OK though because she spent little on food. Just the essentials. Carrots, lettuce, radishes, a few nuts. She only drank water so milk and other such fatty foods were out of the picture.
It didn't matter, however. She was still fat, after years of dieting.  She still tipped the scales each morning at 180 pounds. Her 5'5'' frame made her appear even heavier. Her plain brown hair, her plain brown eyes. Everything about her, plain.
Life didn't matter anymore. She had been trying for two years to get his attention. She loved him. More than anything she had ever loved.
Her tears began again. At three in the morning, they were starting again.
She got up. She didn't want to. It would be nice not to ever get up again.
Move. That's what she would do! Move to where no one knew her and start all over.
Her mind raced with the plan. She had some money saved.
She began to cry again. That money had been for the wedding. The wedding would never happen now.
_______________

The bus pulled up in front of a small cafe that sat on the edge of town. California was still miles and miles away. Heartache still burned deep within her.
She stared out the window. People laughing, talking. No cares. No burdens. Everyone was happy. "Except me," she thought. "I'm without a friend. I'm without a life."
She had to use the restroom so she got off the bus. Inside the little cafe the noise was a low humming din. Just enough to make the room feel warm and cozy. She looked around and saw the sign for the restroom. The line was long. She sat down at the counter to wait for it to lighten up.
"Coffee miss?" came the voice of a waitress.
"No thanks, but I will have a coke." she said. After all, what was the point of dieting if she couldn't lose the weight anyway.
She drank her coke. She waited.
All of her life, she waited. Waited for a prom date, waited for her first kiss, waited for the money to leave the hick town she was from. Waited. Waited for love that never came. She was tired of waiting.
"So, where ya from?"
She turned. A wrinkled, toothless smile was staring at her.
"Pittsburgh," she said softly, hoping it wouldn't turn into a conversation.
"Mighty big town. Ain't never been there maself, but I heared lots about it."
Great. She was conversing with a country bumpkin. The last thing she needed.
"It's nice." She replied out of decency. She was that at least. Decent. Never great, never amazing, just decent.
"Where ya headed?"
She sighed. "California." Maybe that would shut him up.
Wrong.
"Ma goodness! That's a long way off. Ya have relations out there?"
She put her head in her hands.
"No, just felt like going I suppose." Boy she sure had to go to the bathroom. She looked. The line was still there.
"That's nice. Young'uns should get out and see the world. Take ma grandson. He's done been 'round the world and back again. Time he settles down I think. Needs a good wife and family."
The tears threatened to spill. A wife. A family. Something she would never have.
"Excuse me. I need to use the restroom."
She went to stand in line. At least it got her away from conversation.
The bus had stopped for an hour. What to do for 30 more minutes. There seemed to be nothing in this small town to do.
She walked down what appeared to be main street. Three stores and a gas station. Town Hall at the end of the street. Post office on the other side. Two houses beside that. There were a couple of other streets going north. One going south.
She went to the park at the end of the street. Sat down on the bench. She was so tired.
_______________

  "Hello?"
    The voice was a cool breeze. It didn't seem to have a body, just a sound.
    "Miss? Are you alright?"
    The voice again, only this time a dark and handsome man appeared from the mists that swirled around her.
    "Miss, wake up. Are you alright?"
    Her eyes flew open. The sunlight was bright against the shadow of a man. His bespectacled eyes peered at her. He bent over, his hand on her shoulder.
    Where was she? She looked around, her eyes adjusting.
    The bus!
    Running down the street toward the cafe. Please be there! Please be there! How long had she been asleep?
    The bus was gone. Her luggage, her purse.
    Her purse! She checked her side. It was gone! Great. All she needed. Stranded in a small town, no money, no help. Life couldn't get any worse.
    "Miss? I believe this is yours." came the voice from her dream. Turning, there he was. Tall, graying at the temples, a close, neat beard. Just as her dream had been. Same voice too.
    She looked at his hand. Her purse! She must have dropped it in her haste to find the bus.
    "Thank you," she said softly, reaching and clutching it. At least she had money.
    The tears were there. Why? She always cried. She was sick of this. Sick of crying, sick of being alone, sick, sick, sick.
    "Come, let's go in the cafe and sit. You don't look well."
    Proper English. Seemed to be a gentleman. At least the cafe had people in it. At this point in her life she didn't care if she was kidnapped and carried into the mountains. At least it would be an adventure.
    The cafe was quiet. A few locals. Nothing happening.
    They took a booth. He ordered coffee. She had another coke.
    She leaned her head against the window.
    "Did you come on the bus?" he asked softly.
    No, I flew in with an umbrella. That wasn't nice. The man was just concerned.
    "Yes. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was just very tired. The park was peaceful."
    "It is a relaxing place to be. There isn't much going on around here. Everyone is so very laid back."
    She took a good look at him. He appeared younger in good light. More distinguished. Perhaps he was a scholar, or author. Maybe a millionaire who liked a quiet town to run away to.
    She was dreaming again. Her life was lived that way.
    "You will need a place to stay. The bus won't come through again for a couple of days. My grandmother has a boarding house. You can stay there."
    He looked up. "There's grandfather now. I'll invite him over."
    He rose and walked behind her.
    She heard his voice.
    "Grandfather, I want you to meet someone."
    She turned slightly and found herself looking up into her wrinkled, toothless friend.
    "Howdy there young'un. Good ta see ya again."
   
     
_______________

   
   
    Dinner was very different. No plastic boxes. No waiters. No loneliness.
    Five people sat around a small table in a warm kitchen.
    Laughter; genuine. Talking, opinions, differences, kindness, love.
    It was something she had yet to experience.
    Grandmother was soft, round, and wore small glasses on the end of her nose. She spoke softly with a country drawl. The warmth of her smile was enough to light the sun should it ever go out. Grandfather was the same. She had thought that country sound and smile was an annoyance. Now it was pleasant and satisfying.
    Mother and son sat by one another. Her arm on his. Discussing the day. She looked like her mother. Same softness. Same round figure.
    He must have taken after his father. His height and dark hair. Hers was light.
    "Did you enjoy the meal?" asked Grandmother.
    It had been roast. Green beans, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob.
    "It was wonderful." she said, sincerely. "I haven't had such a meal in a very long time."
    "You do look a bit underfed, dear. A week or two with my cooking and you'll be doing just fine." Underfed? She appeared to be underfed?
    "I hope you enjoy your room. I put fresh sheets on the bed."
    She hadn't ever had anyone put fresh sheets on a bed for her. If felt very nice.
    Dinner was over.
    "Let's go sit in the living room."
    They spent their evenings talking, watching a little television. He played the guitar. Spanish quality to it. It went well with his graying temples.
    As she sat curled on the couch, her head drooped. The warmth, the coziness of the family. She wanted to wallow down in it and go to sleep forever.
    "Perhaps you should go to bed if you're tired dear." It was a soft, kind voice. Warm hands lead her to her room.
    A flannel nightgown was lying on the bed. She put it on. Crawling between sheets put on the bed just for her, she fell fast asleep.
   
     
_______________

   
   
    It was raining when she woke. It seemed dread was on her again.
    Was this the day the bus came? She couldn't remember.
    An alluring scent drew her to put on her clothes.
    "Good morning!"
    It was all she heard for several minutes. Did she sleep well? Was she hungry? What did she feel like doing today? It was raining, did she see? Would she like coffee, juice, or maybe milk?
    She sat down to a hot breakfast of pancakes with butter and strawberry syrup. Bacon and fresh biscuits graced the table also.
    There went her diet.
   
    "Let's go."
    She looked up.
    He was standing there with an umbrella.
    "What?"
    "Let's go for a walk. It's pleasant out here when it rains. Good for you."
    "OK." No one ever asked her to take a walk. No one ever asked her to do anything.
    She accepted the jacket that he had found for her.
    As they stepped out the door, the fresh rain scent hit her. It was nice. She looked at the man beside her.
    He was nice too.
   
    It was cool, but not cold. The rain was soft and drizzled slowly around them.
    Huddled together under the large umbrella, they walked.
    Down to the park.
    Out of the park on a small trail. The woods rustled softly with the rain.
    He asked about her family.
    She had none. Her life was a journey from one foster family to another. She didn't know her mother or father. Had never wanted to.
    She was tired. Tired of living the lonely life she lead. She told him. She had never told anyone. How lonely her life was.
    He smiled. Loneliness was not new to him either. He traveled the world. Learned from masters. Language, philosophy, history, music. Many things he had learned; loneliness was the greatest. Tears came halfway through the walk.
    From them both.
    It seemed she had found a friend. Someone to confide in.
    She laughed. He told jokes well. She hadn't laughed so freely in so long.
    As they neared the end of the trail they had followed, it opened up onto a small lake.
    In the rain, the beauty was indescribable.
    Faint, misty, but so beautiful.
    They continued back toward town. It had been a beautiful day. She had seen the wonder of life. It was different than her everyday life.
    Up in the morning, early to exercise, sparse breakfast, work, humiliation, home to exercise, sparse supper, a bed of loneliness and tears.
    That was her life.
    Here it was different. Here was a family.
    She wished it was hers. She wished she was him.
   
    The bus came the next day. She sat on the bench outside the cafe.
    As the bus came into town, the dread and sadness came with it.
    They were all there to see her off.
    Grandmother even cried.
    No one had every cried for her.
    He stood beside the door as she went to get on the bus.
    "Have a safe trip."
    There was a sadness there. She could hear it. She felt the same way.
    "I will. Thank you."
    He wouldn't want her. He was intelligent. A socialite in the world of knowledge.
    "I hope I see you again."
    She loved his voice. It was a soft dream that called to her from the depths of her despair.
    "I hope I see you again too."
    The door shut.
    He waved.
    She cried.
   
     
_______________

   
    The bus was five miles out of town.
    She was still crying.
    The bus was seven miles out of town.
    Now she was angry.
    The bus was ten miles out of town.
    She felt loneliness washing over her.
    The bus stopped.
      She bent over on the side of the road. Sickness was too real. Heartache began to burn again. She hadn't realized it was gone.
    The bus started again.
    How could you love someone in two days. She barely knew them all, especially him. Love didn't work like that. You fell into it gradually. You stewed in it for a few years, then you had true love. Didn't you?
    She was confused, sick, heartbroken. She couldn't live her life this way. She didn't want to, and she wouldn't.
    The bus was fifteen miles out of town.
    It stopped.
    It left.
    She walked.
    Slowly at first. Unsure. She picked up speed.
    She would tell him that she loved him.
    No, that was forward.
    She would tell him that she missed him.
    No, that was stupid.
    She would tell him....
    What would she tell him?
    She stopped. Looked back toward the receding bus. This was foolish.
    She was throwing herself at a man again. She could kick herself! Why did she do this.
    She turned toward the bus. Too far away. Now she would have to make up a story.
    I got off because I was sick, the bus just left.
    That was stupid too.
    She began to walk again.
    Fourteen miles to town.
    This was the dumbest thing she had ever done.
    Twelve miles to town.
    This was the most desperate thing she had ever done.
    Nine miles to town.
    If she ever got there in one piece, she would confess everything she had ever done wrong for a drink of water.
    Eight miles to town.
    Someone was running. Running toward her. Some health nut probably.
    Seven and a half miles to town.
    She stopped.
    It was him! He was running toward her.
    He stopped. They stood feet apart. A stone's throw away.
    "Don't go!" he said, breathlessly.
    "I didn't." Quiet, expectant.
    "I love you."
    "I love you too."
    "Silly isn't it."
    That was what she had thought. Not now, not ever again.
    "No, it isn't."
    "Love at first sight. You, sitting there on the park bench, dreaming. That isn't stupid?"
    "No. I was in love with a voice that came in my dream as I sat on that park bench. No, it isn't silly, stupid, or wrong."
    She knew, this was right, this was what she wanted, and needed.
    "I love you." he said again.
    Then she did something she had swore she would never do again.
    She threw herself at him.
    He caught her in his arms.
    He kissed her.
    She clung to him. Security, warmth, kindness, love. All she ever wanted.
    Love.
    He gave it freely.
    The last seven and half miles to town were the greatest of her life.
    And she didn't need that drink of water.
   
     
_______________

   
   
    "I love that story Grandma." said a small voice.
    She was the prettiest little girl Grandma had ever seen. Not including, of course, the other three little granddaughters.
    "I love to tell it." she said softly.
    Same small town, same small house. It had been home to several generations. She was happy to be looking into the eyes of the sixth.
    "I always loved that story Mom. But, why don't you tell it with names. It makes it seem so unreal. Like it's someone else's story. Not yours."
    She looked at one of the sons that she had borne for her gray-templed love.
    The sun was setting. The day had been pleasantly cool. Early spring. The porch was littered with grandchildren, children.
    She was so happy. So very happy.
    "Because, son, it is someone else's story."
   
    Author's Note: Without love, we are nothing. Give love, we are half. Receive it, we are whole. But, no matter whom you are or what you do, this is your story, this is your life.
© Copyright 2008 storymaker (thestorymaker at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1454976-The-Daisy