By: Ray Dangel

The gray-haired woman boarded the bus, wheezing and grunting as she hauled her enormous bulk up the narrow steps. Barely glancing at the driver, she took the nearest seat like a hen settling on a nest, smoothed her blue polka-dotted dress, arranged her ragged coat and gave a great sigh.

Close behind, as if on a leash, her bone-thin husband dug a few coins out of his trousers and dumped them into the fare box, choosing a seat across the aisle from his wife.

Several blocks later, not looking at her husband, the woman declared, "I'm mad at you, John."

"You didn't say so in the store," he replied, likewise avoiding hiswife's gaze.

"It never does any good when I do."

"What are you mad about, Emma?"

"You wouldn't let me shop. You were in such a hurry to leave."

"Hah!" His snort burst out, and he turned to glare at her as if he could erase her with his eyes. After a few moments of being ignored, he gave up.

The bus traveled several more blocks before Emma spoke again. "Well, why ARE you always in such a hurry when we go shopping? We don't go that often, only on Saturdays."

"I just like to get back home, that's all."

"You always do it, John."

"Do what?"

"Hurry home. Why can't we take our time and see things?"

"You never buy anything. We just walk and look and walk and look. I'm tired of it."

"What could I buy at the mall? We barely manage at the grocery."

"Why can't you be satisfied with television? Plenty to see on TV if you didn't always fall asleep, and then we wouldn't have to walk all over the mall. How come you don't shop by yourself? You could stay as long as you like."

She answered softly. "You know I worry when I have to leave you alone after ... your heart pains. You know ..."

John interrupted gruffly. "Don't remind me I'm a cripple."

"Oh, John, I don't think of you as a cripple. But it would trouble me to leave you alone all afternoon." She took a rumpled handkerchief from her purse and blew her nose loudly.

Emma's fingers twisted and untwisted the kerchief as the bus went another several blocks. Then she turned and said, "Maybe we could go to the mall every other week instead of every Saturday. Twice a month."

She peered at his face anxiously.

After a while, he sniffed, rubbed his nose with an index finger, and said gently, "Well, maybe we could, Emma."

"It would be better than me going alone."

His gnarled hand reached across the aisle and gently clasped his wife's hand. They gazed silently at each other for perhaps half a minute, and a smile crept over his face. "Guess I'm pretty boring for a go-getter like you, Emma. Don't mean to be."

"It's okay, John. I love you. But I'm glad we talked."

"Me, too, Emma. Here's our stop."

The couple made their way to the door. John stepped to the curb, turned and offered his arm to help his wife off the bus.

They strolled away holding hands.

The End

Ray Dangel is a retired newspaper editor who lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains because they exert a bizarre influence on his fingers, causing them to churn out weird stories.