I am waiting.
It could be sitting at the train station waiting for the next train.
I see the young man with a huge bouquet of pink lillies and avalanche roses on the other platform. He is pacing. It is an excited pacing. I don’t know. Somehow I can just tell. I try to picture the lucky woman in my head.
Nearby a clique of teenage girls are laughing. You can just tell it’s about a boy. Yes… The red head girl is clutching her phone to her chest and asking her girlfriends for advice about what to say next. All of them excitedly give ideas. But wait two of them are walking away from the festivities now. The tall one wearing too much make up for a school girl in uniform is crying. The shorter friend is comforting her but now the group notice and follow them asking what’s up. I actually raise my brow at the red head. She claims her friend is being a drama Queen because it’s not about her. The short girl is telling her to shut up. The others are standing off to the side to watch the drama unfold. Someone is saying the red head is being unfair. Ah! The blonde chips in and says they are both being divas. Apparently the tall girl wearing all the make up has been crushing on the same guy.
This will rip them apart if they let it.
The train on the other platform is coming in. I am afraid I will miss the guy giving the amazing bouquet. It’s her reaction I anticipate most. I would tell him how much I love them. I would compliment his very romantic gesture.
How charming he seems as he straightens up.
Lots of passengers disembark. I smile until my cheeks hurt. It is not what I was expecting at all. Love.
She might be his mother or grandmother. I don’t know for certain but it is wonderful. I love her reaction the best. He seems to be playful with her. He has given her his arm and taken her bag. It makes me wonder who his father is and how well his mother must have been treated for him to be the gentleman he is today.
If someone saw me now they would think I am crazy.
Uh-oh. The girls are both crying now. The short girl is encouraging them to hug it out.
I am sitting on this platform waiting for a train and people watching. Then the thought occurs to me. Is someone watching me?
And suddenly I feel self conscious. I touch my hair. I sit up straight. I look down on my shoes and wish I hadn’t worn my scuffed booties. They look old and beaten up but I am comfortable in these grey little lovelys.
Why am I here? I am waiting to take a train. At the end of my journey I will be a successful author. I will no longer be crying about boys. I will be meeting my son raised so wonderfully by his father.
I am waiting to be ready.
Posted from WordPress for Android 2015