Image © Mara Eastern Used with permission
Weave a tale that involves the concept of waiting. We do a lot of waiting in our lives, in queues, at train or bus stops, waiting for loved ones to arrive etc….
6.25am he said to be here for my pick up.
So I was here, waiting.
I’ve been waiting since then. The city moves past me and does nothing to acknowledge me as a participant in the modern life of a thriving metropolis.
The workers on the early trains and buses, the rush to get from one stop to another, their iridescent shirts betraying their worker status.
A little later the business office people in suits and carrying attaché cases all troop past. So many with heads cast down their thoughts far from the drudgery of the office.
Still I wait, rugged against the cold, my lunch in a brown paper bag safely stored in my rucksack out of the weather.
They said it would be to my advantage to be here early as he didn’t like to be kept waiting. But what of me. I don’t like it either.
I think of all the reasons for him not sowing up.
His car broke down.
He was home sick.
He was called away on another more important job.
He forgot about me.
That last one bothers me. I hate that I might be forgotten. It means I didn’t mean much in the first place. That I could be easily forgotten.
But I want this job. I want to impress. I need this job.
So I wait.
As the lunch hour approaches I eat my first sandwich. Corn meat with pickles. My mum likes to make sandwiches with pickles.
I sip on my bottle of water and as each person approaches me I look with expectation then with disappointment as they pass me by.
By 4pm I am getting very agitated. I’ve checked my phone through out the day for messages, but there’s nothing to say that any one cares.
I get a call eventually at 4.45pm. It’s him full of apologies. Promising tomorrow to collect me. Says he is impressed I waited all day.
Can I be there again tomorrow?
I wonder that myself!