R.J. Caron Worth the Wait A tall, slim, gray-bearded man waited for the ten o’clock bus. Nils Mathers cursed the morning. “Damn cold for October first,” he complained. For once, the weatherman was right: sleet was falling. Frozen, glistening droplets bounced off Nils’s dirty Red Sox cap. And wetness penetrated his thin-soled boots. Nils scowled while looking for his cigarettes, stashed somewhere beneath his coat. “Where the hell is it?” he grumbled, frisking himself. “All right!” he shouted, as his trembling hand located the red-and-white box. He pulled one out of the pack and stuck it between his quivering lips. After striking a damp match, a putrid sulfur smell attacked his nostrils. This sucks, thought Nils as smoke streamed past his bloodshot blue eyes, drifting toward the cloud-darkened sky. Nils sat on the wet bus stop bench and closed his eyes, quickly noddingoff. Groaning, he dreamt of his last day in Vietnam. As a nineteen-year-old Army Private, an EVAC helicopter was coming to lift him out of the jungle. His hip oozed blood, caused by a sniper’s bullet, and his mind screamed, Where the hell is that son-of-a-bitch pilot? From that day forward, Nils hated waiting. Then Nils opened his eyes and saw the green-and-white transit bus splashing in his direction. It rolled to a stop, the door swung open, and Nils stumbled up the steps. “Hey Nils! How’s it goin’?” asked Ted, the driver. “Could be better,” Nils answered. “Where the hell ya been, Ted? Yer late!” Nils took his usual seat, up front, directly across from Ted. “Hey! Take it easy, pal!” hollered Ted. “It’s slippery out. I almost slid into a car three blocks back!” “Sorry,” replied Nils. “My Social Security check came late yesterday. I got no money ‘til I cash the damn thing!” “Calm down,” said Ted. “We’ll be downtown in a little while.” Nils sat back, staring out the window. The sleet had turned into a cold rain. Nils noticed an elderly lady taking tiny steps, clutching a red umbrella. Oh yeah, he remembered, that lady talked to me at the diner once. He laughed, imagining her and her umbrella being lifted off the ground by a strong wind gust, like Mary Poppins. Nils stopped laughing, remembering that she told him a sad story, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was about. The vehicle stopped at the corner of Main and Hope Streets. “Hey Nils, this where ya wanna get off?” asked Ted. It was Nils’s usual departure point. Nils peered out the window. There stood the Freedom Savings Bank, with its brass-and-glass revolving door, imbedded beside the bus stop. “Yeah, I’ll get out here,” answered Nils. “See ya later Ted.”
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