You know, I never imagined five minutes of waiting could change my life. But thats exactly what happened.
It all began about three years ago. The first time I saw her, she was hurryingor well, hurrying as much as one can with a walking sticktowards the bus stop. Hurrying might be generous, actually. This elderly lady was doing her best, dragging one foot in front of the other, waving her free hand as if it would somehow make me wait.
Of course, I stopped. Naturally, I did.
Thank you, love, she panted, grabbing hold of the railing, These old bones arent what they used to be.
Its alright, come and have a seat, I told her.
From that day on, she became a regular. Every Tuesday and Friday, shed catch my buswhether for a check-up at the hospital or off to see her sister. The only trouble was, she always arrived right as I was meant to be pulling away.
The second time I saw her tiny form in the mirror, slowly edging closer to the stop, my colleague muttered to me, Go on, mate, were running late.
But I kept my eyes on her. There she was, in her bright green coat with her handbag swinging at her side.
Were waiting, I said.
Youll get a telling off
Oh well.
She climbed aboard, smiled at me with those shining eyes, and whispered, Youre an angel.
That turned into our little tradition. Every Tuesday and Friday, if she wasnt there, Id wait. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two. However long it took. Not a single passenger ever complained. People grew rather fond of her. Sometimes someone would lean out, laughing, Oi, here she comes!
After a while, she started bringing homemade biscuits.
My granddaughter baked these, shed say, though Im not sure I quite believed her.
Then, one Friday in July, she didnt show. Nor did she turn up that Tuesday. A week went by. Then another. Still, I stopped and peered hopefully down the road, but there was no sign of her.
Shes probably unwell, one of the regulars said, Shes getting on a bit now
Three weeks later, I spotted her again. She was moving even more slowly, now with a walker. I parked up, hopped out, and went to her.
Are you alright?
Her eyes welled up.
I was in hospital. But I told my daughter I needed one more ride on your bus.
I helped her get on, and the whole bus broke out cheering.
Last Tuesday was actually my final day on that route. I was retiring after more than thirty years behind the wheel. When I got to her stop, she wasnt alone. There were dozens of peoplecommuters from over the years, neighbours, even the chap from the corner shop.
They were holding a banner:
Thank you. You taught us that kindness is never late.
I stepped down, totally taken aback. She came towards meleaning on her granddaughterand gave me a hug.
You waited for me so many times, she said softly. Today, we waited for you.
There were speeches and, wouldnt you know it, they told me the stop was being renamed after methe stop of the man who always waits.
My voice cracked.
I I only waited, thats all. It wasnt anything special.
Then from the crowd, someone shouted,
It is special! In this town, everyones rushing, nobody ever waits!
And they gave another big round of applause.
That night, when I told my wife the whole tale, she smiled and said,
Thats exactly why I love you. In a world thats always rushing, you always knew when to pause.
I put the sign up next to our family photos, but what I really treasure is her smileevery time she climbed aboardand that gentle, Thank you, love.
People say I did something extraordinary. All I did was wait. Sometimes I think that just might be the most extraordinary thing you can dowait for someone else, especially when the world is telling you to keep moving.
