Revised Description Scene at Bus Stop

He had missed the 7:30 bus by literally a couple of feet. The driver passed by John without remorse as he frantically sprinted to the curb waving his arms higher and faster than an air traffic controller. Now he had to wait 20 minutes until the next bus going into Kansas City would drive by.

The air was cool and although the sunshine promised a clear day without rain, his gray wool cardigan with the wooden bowl buttons wasn’t enough to keep the chill from seeping in. John loved this sweater and wore it everyday. It was the one his son Keith had given him for his birthday the year before.

No one waited with him there on the corner of Botano Avenue and Chestnut Street. No cars drove by either. The town was still asleep this Sunday morning. John sat down on the scratched up aluminum bench underneath the graffitied bus sign and stared out at the monotonous suburb neighborhood that stretched out before him. House, driveway, car. House driveway, car. House, driveway, car. The pattern was broken by a Fleetwood RV hooked up to a red pick up, that jutted out onto the street.

He noticed a few feet away stood a naked tree that was sprouting red buds. It was the beginning of spring yet John felt as though it were still winter. Up in the branches a clump of mud and sticks housed a little bird chirping loudly.

John walked over to the tree to get a closer look.

The bird started to chirp more furiously.

John instantly thought about Keith and how this time last year they had found a little bird with a broken wing in their backyard. Keith had asked his father to make the little bird stop crying. He just wanted him to feel better. John’s mind slipped back to that memory last year, to his son’s toothless smile as he watched the bird fly away again for the first time. They had celebrated the joyous event with pickles and salami on white bread with spicy mustard, Keith’s favorite food, even though he didn’t have the two front teeth necessary to chew them at that time.

John turned his head down to the floor and just as he was about to take a step, he stopped. Beneath him, on the concrete was a clump of lifeless fuzzy feathers and a beak. Just a baby bird, he must have fallen trying to leave the nest. John stared at the bird a moment and could see nothing else but its lifeless body. Behind him he could only hear the cries coming from the other bird. The sight of death again so soon made something in John snap and he was overwhelmed with emotions. Right there on the deserted corner of Botano and Chestnutt on that early Sunday morning, John felt his body numb and he could do nothing to keep the streams of tears falling from his face. His heavy body sagged to the ground and he sobbed loudly and uncontrollably as if he were the last remaining man in all the world.

He did not stop until he saw the 7:50 bus whiz by him.