"So you have a job?" His voice was always very gentle, like if he spoke any harder it might break him.
"Yes, I do!" I kicked my feet in excitement, and he smiled, his eyes following my movement. "Well, I mean, it's just at a drive-in, but it's a real job. I'm making real money."
"It makes sense that you would be excited." He gripped his notebook tighter, and I looked down at the black book, as if noticing it for the first time.
"What's that for?" I pointed, and he looked down, as if he, too, were noticing it for the first time.
"Sometimes I draw in it." I looked at the black cover of the notebook, wishing the breeze would catch it just right, so I could see what lay beneath it. I felt like if I knew what it was that he drew, I would begin to know more about him.
"But I try not to draw in it very often when I am here. It might distract me..."
"From what you are waiting for?"
"Yes." He looked pleased that I had finished his thought the way he would have, his smile sending warmth to my very core.
"Then why do you bring it?" Again, he looked at the book as if he, too, were wondering the same thing.
"It's just what I've always done." And that seemed to be answer enough for him.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Waiting
Short StoryIt was always the same bench, at the same time, every single day. Why? What was he waiting for?
