Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Instead of a growl, I hear a snore.
I peer to my side to find the old woman across the aisle again. Her husband is dead asleep, head leaning against the window, and he’s running wood through a table saw with every labored snore. The old woman, sweet as can be, only hums to herself as she gently rummages through a small bag in her lap. She has endured much of his snoring, every night, every naptime, every lazy afternoon. I can tell.
She spots me looking at her, but doesn’t make much of a deal out of it, continuing to hum as she searches through her bag. She pulls out a wrapped sandwich, then considers it for a while. She lets out an oddly long and demonstrative sigh, then eyes me. “You hungry, sonny?”
My usual quick wit is dried up on my tongue. In a tiny moment of weakness, I only stare back at her, silent.
“My husband always complains about my sandwiches. Not enough this. Too much that. I swear, a Michelin star deli couldn’t satisfy his taste. Do you want this?”
I swallow hard. “No, I’m—”
She extends the thick and delicately wrapped sandwich across the aisle. “Go ahead, sonny. Do me a favor and take this off my hands, will you?”
Before I can answer, she simply lays the sandwich on my lap, then returns to fishing through her bag. A moment later, she produces one of the water bottles she had from the rest area and sets it on my seat next to me. It’s balanced precariously, and only a couple seconds after she lets go, it starts to tip. I grab it, stopping it from falling. After closing up her bag, she looks off toward the window in silence.
I lick my lips, overcome. Then I unwrap the sandwich as slowly as I can force myself to—fighting my urge to tear off the plastic covering like a rabid wolf—and bring it to my mouth for a bite.
A sweet, tasty, perfect bite.
The lettuce crunches with life.
The tomatoes snap with fresh succulence.
The bread, as soft and chewy as fresh-made.
I barely chew the first bite, swallowing it too fast. I pop open the bottle of water quickly and chug a quarter of it down. Then I’m right back on the sandwich, delirious with gratitude as I relish mouthful after mouthful.
That’s when I catch the old woman looking at me.
She smiles delightfully. “You remind me of one of my grandsons. I think it’s the dimples.”
I swallow my bite. “Your husband’s fucking nuts if he doesn’t like your sandwich.” My eyes go big. “S-Sorry for cursing like that.”
“Ain’t anything I haven’t heard before.” She nods. “I was serious about that water. I can’t risk a single sip. But my husband always insist we have water on us at all times. Don’t mind me,” she says quickly. “Eat, eat, eat. Don’t let my mindless prattling interrupt your lunch.”
I take a bite, this time less vigorously, more in control of myself. “Thanks,” I mumble through my mouthful.
“Where are you headed to, sonny? Can I ask?”
I stop chewing.
Can I ask …?
The way she worded that tells me everything. She must know I’m homeless or on the run. She can probably smell it all over me—that I’m in a situation, that I’m in need. The sandwich I’m eating and the water bottle I’m chugging are charity. She wants the mystery solved. She wants me to tell her the rest of the story she’ll probably share at whatever family gathering she’s headed to. ‘Oh, it was so sad, I gave my sandwich to this poor, lonely boy on the bus …’
“On the other hand,” she goes on, “you don’t have to tell me anything. I did just say I didn’t want to interrupt your lunch. You know what?” She lifts a hand. “I’m gonna sit here and just enjoy the roar of the bus engine while you eat.” She smiles, quite satisfied with herself. Her husband’s snoring reaches a new and impressive depth, causing her eyes to turn funny. “Well, the roar of something, for sure.”
This may come as a surprise, but I like making people feel good.
Even bad people, sometimes.
Like my dad.
So I decide to give the woman what she wants to hear. “I’m on the way to my Uncle Don’s house,” I tell her. She perks right up at my words, facing me again. “He lives in a nice house … a nice house near the beach with two dogs, King and Rook. Didn’t want to spend too much money on the road, since I’m short on cash. So … I really appreciate the sandwich and water.” I take another bite, smile through it, and nod. “Thank you.”
The woman studies me for a while, eyes twinkling with wonder. “Your uncle sounds nice,” she decides to say.
“Yeah, my Uncle Don is pretty cool.” I try to imagine a perfect uncle. “He likes baking. He bakes a pan of cookies every Sunday morning. Mmm, I can’t wait to taste them again. They’re just classic chocolate chip, but I swear he puts something else in them. Mmm, they’re the best. Must be love … his secret ingredient.” I chuckle, imagining this memory that doesn’t exist, yet touches me as if it does. “Ever since Aunt Amy passed away, he likes when I visit and help him around the house. I’ll clean out his gutters for him, rake the lawn, and walk both the dogs. King’s getting big. Rook is a little thing. I’m …” I go for another bite and chew it quickly as my imagination runs wild. I have had many nights to dream of a lovely life. “I’m coming back from a … a church trip to San Antonio. You can say I like giving back to my community. My uncle says I’ve got a big heart, but … I don’t think I’m all that special. It’s important we all try to put some good out into the world. It’s what the world needs most.” I take another swig of water, then another big bite.