There she sat. Her long patterned skirt lay calmly on the caramel-colored bench as it blew softly in the breeze against her lower legs. She tapped her foot vigorously as she scanned the walkway in front of her. Her big, brown eyes looked up and down the walkway. Uniformed men ran from the locomotive with unbridled excitement to their spouses. The sky was overcast and gray and big clouds had begun to form. The woman’s collared button-up shirt began to wrinkle. Goosebumps spread over her bare arms as another cycle of men came forth. She continually checked the clock behind her that was posted on the outside of the building.
Sweet smoke made her wrinkle her nose as a group of young, long-haired men walked by carrying a sign with President “Richard Nixon” crossed out. They protested very proudly as they walked away though words flowed out of their mouths very slowly and incomprehensibly. As they loitered about the station, more couples reunited. The pairs lingered, socializing briefly and, then, leaving. Finally, she was alone in the silence. Still seated, she reached into her purse, pulling out a navy blue wallet. From the wallet, she retrieved a picture of a man who mirrored many of the uniformed men who had previously stepped onto the platforms. She gently pressed her lips against the photo and released them with a quiet sigh.
She began to fidget with the newly acquired rock on her left hand’s ring finger. Suddenly, a sound that was heard from miles came rushing from a distance. The ground trembled along with her hands. She looked up as the rumble ceased. The woman rose as a man stepped onto the platform.
In his hand rested an envelope, sealed with the lady’s name printed across its front. The gentleman was young, but stern. He approached the woman, head down, and handed it to her. She opened the envelope and began to read. Tears swept over her cheeks and rolled onto her blouse as she slumped back onto the bench.