The Cold Terminal

I huddle in the cold terminal as the cars slowly roll by, the swishing sound of slush rustles through my head as the snow gently falls, covering up the tracks once again. The lights of the bus start to show coming over the hill, as I roll a bit closer to where the door for me will be. The bus slows to a stop, sliding a bit on the snow covered road. To my amazement, there he is, John. Tears roll down my cheeks as he pretends he doesn’t notice I am there, though I know it’s hard not to notice a woman in a wheelchair. My heart aches from the pain he has caused me, as I roll out of the snow and onto the bus. John starts his walk, fast paced to some unknown destination, never to see me again.