While You Wait

I Saw Her

I saw her standing on the sidewalk with her hair behind one ear, rosy cheeks shown, scarf almost covering her lush, pink lips. She wore her coat so lovely, her hands looked cold. I'd see her in the same place every day, waiting for the bus to come by while she read her book. What was it? Beast by Brie Stangler, I would know since I see her every day, but I haven't read it. She looks like the type of girl to read Twilight or The Fault in Our Stars, but then again, she seems pretty old school and classy for the simple things. Your typical hipster.
She's beautiful really, it's quite refreshing. Should I go up to her? Talk to her? Introduce myself, have a pleasant conversation. We're both mature and I'm sure she's capable of carrying out a conversation. She looks to enjoy reading.

My morning routine is easy. I wake up in the morning, clean up, grab my coffee and go. Heading out the door is probably the hardest part of my day. Poppy, my dog, never wants me to leave. I could be late for work because I hear sweet Poppy whining at the door after I shut it, therefore I go back inside and give her belly rubs. Surprisingly, I'm never late. Getting outside from my apartment and walking to the bus stop, my rosy-cheeked friend already waits there. Her hair stays behind one ear as she flips through the pages every few minutes. She reads fast, I noticed that. I always ask myself if it would be a good idea to walk up to her and ask if she's enjoying her book, but the anxiety of being rejected holds me back and my vocals suddenly disappear. Words don't leave my mouth the whole ride to work.

The days are getting colder as it's close to winter and I'm lost within myself. Mom called me about Thanksgiving, but that's not here yet. My coffee is hot and I leave my apartment. My rosy-cheeked friends waits in the same place every day and she's close to the end of her book. I've examined her a lot lately, but I need to know more about her. Just talk to her, but I can't. It's weird because she looks so normal, it seems as though she has no flaws or there's absolutely nothing wrong with her. I wonder what her voice sounds like — she looks like a soft spoken person, but someone with confidence at the same time. Who is she? How long does she wait here?

Every time I come to this stop, it's always the same. Talk to her, but I can't. Reading that book, hands are cold, but today is something different. Her hair is cut short, looks shoulder length and she wears a winter hat. Today she reads a different book, but I can't seem to see what it is. The squinting became noticeable and she looked at me. What do I do? I'm childish—but no—stop it. I stare at her in shock and slowly look away, hoping she'd forget that my of this happened. Worried, I am. Every day after that, she seemed to be standing much closer to me, the book looked good, but what was it? I'm not quite sure.

Her phone rang and she looked up and answered. Her voice was light and quiet. She sounds like a mother who reads poetry to her child while he sleeps. Soon enough, someone came and stood by her, "Hey, Jen!" Jen. That's her name then. They spoke for the whole time before the bus came and they got on, my stop was next, but I wonder where she goes every morning. Probably nothing too crazy, but one can only imagine. Who was that to her? A friend? A boyfriend? A relative?

After that day, I haven't seen her and I worried so much, but I saw a book. It belonged to her based on the looks of her name being written inside of it. Should I pick it up? How did it get here? I picked it up, but didn't open it because anything could be in there and I wouldn't want to invade her space. I'd return it to her when I see her again.

Weeks passed, where had she gone? Her friend stood in her spot today. I looked at him and he looked upset. Ask him. "Excuse me, sir..." I said hesitantly. He looked at me and I needed to talk to him before the time ran out.
"What happened to Jen? Is she your friend?"
"Who are you to her?" There. The words left his lips. I was absolutely nothing, but I worry. I didn't say anything, just ignored his question because there's no good answer.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come off rude. You probably saw her everyday, right?"
I nodded my head, "She read a lot."
"Jen is gone."
Gone. Gone? Where had she gone? What am I doing? He was waiting for a response, but what do I say? Where did she go? A question from a creep that doesn't even know this girl. Can't ask that. He sat down and began to sob. I looked at him in shock and held onto his shoulder. Gone... "What's wrong?" I asked him, hoping he wouldn't say the words. He looked up at me, "Jen is dead."

Jennifer Bradly, twenty-three years old. She had cancer. Every day she stood at the bus stop to go to the doctor and she read books because she knew she only had such little time to live. She wanted to fill her mind with the things she loved most. Cancer took her earlier than expected though, but she saw it coming.

I came home the next night and picked up the book she left behind, flipped to the back and there it was written "Just talk to me." It's too late now. Too late. I don't know if I should cry or maybe be mad at myself for waiting. I'm disappointed. Every morning was different and depressing. I kept forgetting to give Poppy belly rubs, I always looked up hoping to see Jen standing next to me, reading a different book and blowing on her hands to keep them warm, but there was nobody there. I did go to her funeral with her friend and it was heartfelt. I wish it wasn't like this.

There, she was waiting. Waiting for her death at the bus stop every day, reading a good book. There, I saw her.