Ordinarily my stories are long, drawn out tales with multiple characters, but not this one. I dreamed it last night and started writing immediately when I woke up this morning. No editors, no advisors, this one's all me, typos and all. I hope you enjoy it.
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It was raining like hell; I'm talking real lighting-and-thunder-wrath-of-God-somebody-get-Noah-off-his-dead-ass-and-build-that-damned-ark rain. It had been a warm and breezy evening when I left for my 10pm -- 6am shift at the warehouse, not a drop of rain in the forecast; when I clocked out at 5:48am, the weather had changed drastically.
Working the graveyard shift had its disadvantages; the regular world carried on during the day while I slept, so it made doing normal things like going to the bank or the post office a pain. It also had its advantages; getting off work in the early hours, things were quiet and peaceful, and the air was fresh and cool. It had a calming effect. But not today. Oh, no. Not even close.
On the plus side, the bus stop shelter was about 100 feet away from the warehouse employee exit, so I only got partially soaked as I dashed across the parking lot for it. My heart sank when I saw the red LED display that announced when the next bus would arrive; instead of reading the usual, "15F bus arriving 6:12am" it just read "DELAYED". Not good. Not good at all. Shit. How bad could my luck get?
My name is Joseph Sands. I'm 5'8", about 150 pounds. I used to be 195 pounds; working at the warehouse for the past two years has made me whip thin, all muscle and bone. I don't have a driver's license because my long-distance vision is sketchy. The drunk driver that ran the red light and hit my car took that vision from me; I can read things up close, but I can't see down the road, so I'm forever doomed to ride the bus to work.
The same drunk driver who took my distance vision also took my fiancé Erica. He hit us on the passenger side where she was sitting, killing her instantly. My head whipsawed back and forth, finally hitting the driver's side window and causing some brain damage. When the police measured the scene, they estimated he was doing about 75mph in a 35mph zone.
In a small piece of poetic justice, a street sign that he'd hit after ricocheting off our car went through his windshield and impaled him; like Erika, he was pronounced dead at the scene. You'd think I'd get some satisfaction that he was dead, but it just denied me the opportunity to kill him myself.
While I was recovering in the hospital my parents sued the driver's estate on my behalf. They got enough money to pay most of my non-covered medical expenses and a little for a nest-egg. Funny thing was, I now had no future. Erika was gone, what was the point? I wasn't suicidal, but I was just plodding through life one day at a time with no purpose. I wasn't living, I was merely existing.
While I was recovering, I'd sent my old boss an email resigning from my position as Purchasing Manager at a local manufacturing plant. I wanted to cut all ties with my old life; this is how I ended up as a 3rd-shift warehouse worker at a candy wholesaler. I didn't give a shit about a career; the very idea of a career was meaningless to me now. I had no ambition; I needed something mindless to do, that only required my body and not my brain.
So here I was. A warehouse worker, sitting under a bus shelter in the pouring rain waiting for a bus that might not be here until tomorrow. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Fuck it. I was tired, the sky was black, I'd sleep here. Let it rain. I began to doze.
A horn blast woke me with a start. In front of me was a 1st-generation Ford Explorer with the passenger-side window down. A woman's voice called out, "Excuse me, but are you Joseph Sands?"
I stood up, my legs stiff. Limping over to the Ford in the rain, I leaned towards the open window. "Yeah, that's me. Do I know you?"
She popped the dome light on so I could see her face. "It's me, Ann Hatfield. Erika's aunt. They just announced on the radio that all bus service is cancelled until the storm passed -- too many flooded routes. Do you need a ride?"
Holy shit, Ann Hatfield! She was the only one of Erika's family that came to see me when I was in the hospital. In their grief, Erika's mom and dad somehow blamed me for the accident. I was in a coma when they held Erika's funeral; they never came to see me after I woke up. Ann, however, did. Multiple times. She even brought her husband Dominic a time or two. She helped me to grieve, talked me through a lot of it. I never did thank her properly.
When I was released, I was so focused on leaving my old life behind I just closed the door on everything, and everyone. I'd been a damned fool. Yet now, here she was. "Yeah, Ann, that would be great, thanks." I got in and told her my address. She pulled away, back into the storm.
She acted like it had been two days instead of two years since I'd seen her, her warmth was still there. "You look thin, Joseph, you look like you've lost a lot of weigh in fact. You doing OK? I think about you a lot."
"Thanks, Ann. To be honest, I'm not doing great. After all this time I'm still numb from losing Erika." I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back the tears that formed out of nowhere. "I'll be honest, I feel a little guilty -- I never...thanked you and Dominic. I was screwed up emotionally; I was running away. Please thank him for me."
Ann responded quietly, "I lost Dom to a heart attack last year." Oh, swell. I'd really put my foot in it now.
I touched her arm. "I'm really sorry, Ann. I wish I'd known. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you like you were for me."
"Water under the bridge, Joseph. I had 36 wonderful years with Dom, you had two with Erika. You were the one that was robbed, not me." She paused, then said, "Your place is across town, mine is a few blocks away. How about I take you home with me, you can grab a shower, I'll make you some food, let you get caught up on your sleep?"
I realized that between being tired and wet, my bones were aching. This actually sounded great.
"I'd like that very much, Ann. Thanks."
We arrived at her house, a nice one-story ranch style. "What do you want to eat?"
"Well, being a third-shift worker, my morning meal is my supper, so I usually have steak and eggs or something filling."
"I don't have any steak, but I've got some sliced ham. How about ham, eggs, and hashbrowns?"
"That sounds fantastic, thanks. Do you have any beer to go with that?"
"In the fridge. When you finish your shower, help yourself. Oh, and while you're showering, leave your wet clothes in a pile outside the bathroom door and I'll wash them. I'll leave a few of Dom's old things you can wear until they're dry."
