
I remember her clearly, the oversized suitcase, the faded rose on her jacket.
Later, at the diner, I asked a local about her.
For at least 30 years she had gone down to the bus station daily and waited for her lover to come take her away.
Funny thing was that the dark-haired stranger had jilted her long before, back in the 1950s. She had waited patiently for him until she was 41 and began the crazy ritual.
I saw her the next day, the spring beauty just beneath the snowy old surface.
I wonder if she is still waiting?
***
Some of you (if you are old enough) may recognize this as coming from the song Delta Dawn (or try this if you like Tanya better than Helen), only I set it 30 years later, say 2003, when poor Dawn is in her 70s, not her 40s (the song says 41).
***
Word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo © Dale Rogerson. Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.