I sit here motionless, more still than David except for the spontaneous gusts of wind that brush my hair into my face, reminding me that I am, in fact, much more alive. I stare into nothing but the molecules which fill the air that slowly fills my lungs. Exhale. People glance in my direction as they walk past my bench and hurry to their buses.
My head turns slowly. A father holds his boy’s hand. They walk down the steps to the platform. The dad patiently waits for 2-year-old feet to stumble down the shallow steps which are hardly shallow for someone of his stature. My eyes fill up but they don’t move. They remain as still as my statued figure. The dad and his boy become blurry through my glossy, wet filter.
The wind brushes against my hair again. I know, I say to no one but my thoughts. I am here. Remain here. I try to convince myself, but I can’t. I can’t help myself. My thoughts return to our future. I think about who you might be and the dad you’re going to be. I think of those strong hands that will hold our son’s hand, and the soft lips that will kiss our daughter’s forehead.
My thoughts place you on those steps with a young boy and I see your infectious smile that I will someday fall in love with. You relish the joy of being his daddy. He loves you. I can see it in his pure, glossy, smiling eyes as he looks up into your kind, caring daddy’s gaze. He has your eyes, the eyes I will someday fall in love with.
He takes one more step, and with that step he erupts in 2-year-old giggles. Your smile grows and you pick him up and swing him around. Then you pull him into your bundled up chest and squeeze him tight like daddies do. You kiss his cold, rosy cheeks and he bursts out in those sweet little boy giggles again, fidgeting to be set free. He has your strong heart, the heart that I will someday fall in love with.
My thoughts return to now though I struggle to stay here. I hide the glaze behind my eyes, putting it away for some other time. The boy walks away with his dad’s fingers tied to his. They catch a bus going somewhere and I get on mine heading home, though I wish it would take me to where you are.
Someday. Someday there will be a bus — a train, a car, a plane — and it will take me to you, wherever you are. And someday I’ll fall in love with your caring eyes; your infectious smile; your strong heart. Someday I’ll fall in love with you. But today our future is hidden behind my eyes, packaged in dreams disguised as small thoughts. Today I am just taking the bus home.
Hannah Ruthie Writes 