I'll Wait

My blonde-haired blue-eyed baby loved cuddling and his roly poly arms gave the tightest hugs around my neck. I could hear him singing “On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese, I lost my poor meatball when somebody sneezed” while he lay on his stomach coloring in large coloring books that covered the floor. He played sports and became one of the top players on each team. I had proudly worn mom jerseys and missed cheering at his games. My head was leaning back on the head rest of the driver’s seat in my red Chevy Impala reminiscing.

I had expected a building with wooden benches out front and a man behind a window selling tickets and the words BUS STATION on a quaint sign. Instead, there was a small beat-up sign at the end of the strip mall that you could barely make out to read BUS STOP. There was a café at the other end where old men came to drink coffee with other old men and escape their old ladies for a little while. The rest of the shops were vacant except for a pawn shop with barred windows and an orange blinking OPEN sign. I imagined all the cars speeding by were in a hurry to get to work. I took a long inhale of my cigarette that dangled between by index finger and the finger I used when I get cut off on the highway.

This was the second school my son had left. The first one exchanged academics for his talent at throwing a small white ball laced in red thread. He could throw a ball fast and make it dance in the air. Curve ball, changeup, cutter, knuckleball – you name it he could throw it. I had to stop playing catch with him a long time ago. Watching him play made my heart swell with pride. The first college, he didn’t find time for academics and his grades sent him home. He found odd jobs; painting apartments, digging ditches for sprinkler systems or delivering pizzas, I can’t remember exactly. I do remember him bringing me Skittles and Twizzlers and we would sit on the porch, but I don’t remember what we talked about.

He had moved in with his aunt halfway across the country to give school and baseball another chance. A month shy of classes ending and no explanation, he left the field and his classes. He was given a bus ticket and sent home.

Staring in a daze, I almost didn’t see the giant bus turning into the small parking lot filled with potholes and faded yellow paint marking parking spaces. The driver skillfully pulled the bus around and stopped near the faded sign. Diesel fumes and cigarette smoke filled my nostrils, my head began to hurt as I watched a middle-aged woman with her stomach showing between her Led Zeppelin cut off shirt and black leggings drop her worn leather bag on the ground and run to a man who barely got out of a white rusted truck before she jumped in his arms. The bus driver was opening the belly of the bus and luggage was thrown on the ground. Earlier I was deciding on popping the trunk and letting him throw his bags in and greeting him when he got in the car or flinging my cigarette to the ground and meeting him by the bus with a giant hug. It has been 8 months since I saw him last and although I was once again disappointed, I had missed him. I got out of the car, flicked my cigarette to the ground and waited by the open trunk grateful I had worn a jacket, the morning air had a chill to it. There he is long light brown hair tucked behind his ears and a green knit cap sitting on his head with the top draped back. After stepping out of the bus, he stopped and grabbed two black duffle bags off the pavement and began walking towards me. The two bags were placed in the trunk and a bright colored canvas backpack was tossed in the backseat. Before he got in the car, I hugged him tight.

We drove to a gas station to get a drink and use the restroom. The bus stop I had imagined with the quaint bus station sign would have had a bathroom and a vending machine. I wondered where he would play baseball at next but decided it was too soon to ask. I pulled into a parking spot, and we got out of the car. Near the entrance of the convenience store, there was a young lady sitting on the ground next to her car trying to change a flat tire. She had a small jack next to her and a desperate look in her eyes. A large scarf was wrapped around her neck, a faded jean jacket buttoned up and tears streaming down her face. I noticed a man look and walk to the other side of her car to avoid her; another man walked past looking straight ahead as if he didn’t even see her. My son knelt on one knee and smiled. He asked if he could help and after riding 903 miles on a bus, he changed the tire and helped her put gas in her car and watched her drive safely away. I knew at that moment he wasn’t a baseball player, a student, a son; he was a kind, generous person and he was going to be one hell of an adult. He walked over to me, put his arm over my shoulder and thanked me for my patience.

The car was hot, even with the air conditioner running. Again, I was waiting for him. I watched my side and rearview mirrors for his truck to pull in the parking lot. My windows were rolled up and holding a cigarette was a lost habit. The radio played “He gets that from me” by Reba and I wiped a tear that had snuck quietly out and ran down my cheek. His truck passed my red Chevy Impala then backed into the parking spot next to my passenger side. A tall man got out, short light brown hair and blue eyes that matched the sky looked at me and grinned. I swallowed hard, fought back any tears that wanted to spill down my face and smiled back at him. His white dress shirt and khaki pants made him look all grown up and I suddenly missed the little boy that reached for my hand when we walked across a parking lot.

Once inside, I sat quietly in one of the oversized leather chairs lined up next to the large oblong conference table. A lady with short gray hair combed to one side, looking very sharp in her black button up shirt with a gold necklace landing at the opening of her blouse. She was going over every detail of each paper before sliding it to her left, watching that it was signed in the correct spot with blue ink. That page would be flipped over and added to the pile on her right. Sign here and initial here, were instructed each time she slid a paper over. My hands were in my lap, I was a silent witness to his life right now, maybe he asked me here for moral support or to reward me for my patience. Tears would begin to well up, I would force them away, twist in my chair and take a drink from the water the girl at the front desk had offered and I had graciously accepted. He didn’t look at me once as he signed and initialed each page. His concentration was focused on each page and each word she spoke. I suppose I was like that the first time I sat in that chair holding a blue ink pen so tight I had indents in my finger the rest of the day. Finally, keys in a small yellow envelope were handed to him, he stood, shook the lady’s hand and smiled. That smile was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile with him. The girl behind the front desk that had welcomed us in, walked in the room with a camera and a sign that read “I said yes to the address”. He posed holding the sign, standing next to a 6’ silk Ficus tree and smiling while the girl took a few pictures. I held back the urge to get my cell phone out and take a picture of this moment, I’d call the office and ask for one. Maybe I’d frame it. I followed him out of the office, I could feel his pride. He held open the door and the heat surrounded us as the sun beat down. We began to walk to the parking lot, and I felt his hand reach for mine and he held hit all the way to the car. He was one hell of an adult.