Cold raindrops pelted the cracked pavement in a steady rhythm, echoing like a sorrowful metronome through the deserted street. Evening descended like a heavy curtain, cloaking the city in a dim, melancholic hue.
Little Mary felt uncertain of where she was going, slouched beneath the threadbare shelter of her oversized black hoodie, the damp fabric clinging to her aims. Her hood and her damp hair concealing her downcast eyes and wan expression.
The street was empty, except for the streetlights that flickered and hummed a sad tune in the wind. It was bitterly cold, but the rain made everything shine –benches glistened like wet stone, and trash bins were full of the detritus of a day forgotten.
Her breath fogged faintly in the cold air. The bus finally arrived and she got in quickly.
The bus was empty.
Or so she thought.
She dragged herself to the very back, flung herself onto a cracked plastic seat and stared blankly out the fogged window barely registering anything.
She pressed her forehead against the glass, her reflection blinked back at her in the window: eyes rimmed in shadow, skin pale and tight across her cheeks. She looked like a ghost who was yet to sleep.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, persistently even before she got on the bus. She glanced down.
Mom.
The urge to ignore it was strong. But she'd been gone for five hours. Mom had to be worried sick.
She answered, barely above a whisper.
"Yeah, Mom."
"Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried sick I was?" her mom demanded but her voice cracked like she had already cried so much.
Then–silence
A shaky intake of breathe.
"Come home, Mary," her mom finally said, her voice trembling. "I know it's hard… losin Annie. But please, don’t endanger yourself. You're all I have right now." A broken sob bled through the line "Just…come home to me please."
Mary stared at the dirty floor of the bus, fingers tightening around her phone. She swallowed. Hard.
"Yeah. I’ll come back home," she said.
But it sounded like someone else was speaking. Not the once cheerful girl, it sounded like someone who had already fallen apart.
Annie had been her twin. Her other half, her mirror. They lost her after five brutal years of battling cancer. It was hard. It was hell. And when Annie left, something inside Mary broke.
Three days had passed, but nothing felt real. She hadn’t been herself. So she ran, got on a bus to nowhere, no bags, no plans. Just an escape from the void permanently attached to her very soul.
Home didn't feel like her safe place any more, Annie was imprinted in that very house, her memories were like echoing songs that were on repeat.
In her lost thoughts, she had not noticed a stranger sitting right next to her. He was scruffy, his clothes hanging off his tattered layer. The fabric is stained with grime, oil.
His face is grunt, his beard long and unkept, his hands are cracked and rough, his nails blacked with dirt. He clutches a worn-out plastic bag.
Mary's first instinct was fear. Her hand moved quickly, fingers wrapping around the familiar shape of her pepper spray, ready to blind him if he so much as touched her.
Instead of touching her, he turned to her…and smiled.
“Fyn evenin’, pretty lady. You remind me of my wife_the most beautiful woman on earth. She was the center of my world before she died and I became….well like this.”
He laughed, showing his old, gap-toothed smile.
Mary froze, the tension in her chest softened just slightly. The pepper spray slipped a little in her grip.
“But I know in my heart that she's somewhere happy watchin’ over me ‘til the day I meet her again.”
And just then a memory slipped in her mind, soft summer evening, the scent of fresh cut grass. Annie in her wheelchair, enjoying the fresh air, smiling despite it all. Mary remembered Annie saying that ‘No matter what happened, even if she didn’t make it, she would always love her. That she’d save a seat in heaven for Mary, just in case she made it there someday.’
“I don't mean to trouble you,” the old man said, gently pulling his worn bag closer. “Sometimes, I just miss having someone who’ll listen.”
Mary's lips twitched into a small smile –the first smile since Annie passing.
“It’s okay, sir. I’m honored that I remind you of your wife. She must have been a wonderful woman.”
The man smiled back, the corners of his eyes crinkling with quiet gratitude. For a moment, they simply sat together in silence, strangers bound by grief and memory.
When the bus finally stopped or arrived at its destination, Mary blinked, realized she had no idea where she was. She wasn't planning on going anywhere, just that she needed to outrun all the overwhelming emotions she was feeling.
She stepped off the bus and called her Mom.
30 minutes later, her mother’s car pulled up. The drive home was quiet, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. Still, Mary was grateful that her mom didn’t bombard her with questions.
“Mom,” she finally said, her voice low, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going. I just… needed to be alone.”
Her mother reached over, took her hand and squeezed it gently. “It’s okay. Just remember, I’m always here for you.”
Mary looked at her, noticing how tired her eyes looked, how tightly she gripped the steering wheel with her other hand. Her mother wasn’t okay, not even close. She was holding it together, for both of them.
“I know, Mom,” Mary said softly. “Let’s be here for each other… from now on.”
Her mother’s smile was faint but real. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
They didn’t know what the future held. They had each other at this moment, two women, bound by shared loss, choosing to move forward together the only way they knew how:
hand in hand.