I never imagined that five minutes of waiting could change the course of my life, but thats exactly what happened.
It all began three years ago. I first saw her hurrying towards the bus stop from afar. Well, hurrying is a generous word. The elderly lady shuffled along with her cane as quickly as she could, waving her free hand in the air as if everything depended on it.
Of course, I pulled over and waited for her.
“Thank you, dear boy,” she said, breathless, as she gripped the handle. “These old bones just arent what they used to be.”
“Please, take a seat,” I replied.
From that day onwards, she became a regular on my bus. Every Tuesday and Friday, without fail, she rode with mesometimes for her check-ups at St. Marys Hospital or to visit her sister. The problem was always the same: shed arrive just as it was time to drive off.
The second time I spotted her inching closer in the mirror, my colleague beside me muttered, “Come on, were running late.”
But I kept glancing back. There she was in her green coat, handbag dangling from her arm.
“Well wait,” I said.
“Theyll have you written up for this”
“Let them.”
She climbed aboard, smiled at me with those bright blue eyes, and whispered, “Youre an angel.”
And so it became a ritual. Every Tuesday and Friday, Id stop at that bus stop, and if she wasnt there already, Id wait. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two, if needed. No one ever complained. People grew fond of her. Some even poked their heads out the window:
“Here she comes!”
Over time, she started bringing me homemade biscuits.
“My granddaughter baked these,” shed say, though I was never entirely convinced.
One Friday in July, she didnt show up. Nor did she come on the following Tuesday. A week went by, then another. Still, I stopped and looked towards the corner, hoping to see herbut she never appeared.
“She must be ill,” remarked one of the regular passengers. “She is getting on, after all…”
Three weeks later, I saw her again. She moved even slower now, steadying herself with a walking frame. I got off the bus and walked to meet her.
“Are you all right?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I was in hospital. But I told my daughterI simply had to take your bus one more time.”
I helped her onboard. The entire bus broke into applause.
Last Tuesday was my final day on that route. After more than thirty years, I was retiring. When I reached her stop, she wasnt alone. There were dozens of peoplepassengers from over the years, neighbours, even the chap from the corner shop.
They were holding a great banner:
“Thank you. You taught us that kindness is never too late.”
I stepped down, utterly bewildered. She approached slowly, leaning on her granddaughter, and gave me a hug.
“You waited for me so many times,” she said. “Today, were waiting for you.”
There were speeches, and even a sign. They told me the bus stop would now bear my nameThe Stop of the Man Who Always Waits.
My voice trembled as I spoke.
“I I only waited for her. Its nothing extraordinary.”
Someone shouted from the back:
“It is! In this city, everybodys in a rushnobody waits anymore!”
And then they burst into applause again.
That evening, when I told my wife what had happened, she smiled and said,
“And thats why I love you. In this mad world, you always knew when to stop and care.”
I put the sign next to our childrens photographs. But what I truly treasure is something elseher smile each time she stepped onto the bus, and her gentle “thank you, dear boy.”
They say I did something remarkable. All I did was wait.
Sometimes, I think that might be the most remarkable thing we can dosimply wait for someone, even when the world urges us to move on.
