Resisting a Steel Tsunami
The cloud of her hair settling in a window, the cold blue of her eyes in the Mississippi heat, a guttural rumbling fading in the sleepy noise of small town life. She was a military brat and I was a transplant from parts all over in this town where almost everyone else had been born and raised. I didn’t even ask where her ticket would take her. For months after I thought of her every day, wondered if she was living the freedom she was seeking or trapped but too proud to call for help. I wondered how my life might have been different if I hadn’t stepped away from the closing bus door.
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Prompt via napowrimo.net
Photo by Ant Rozetsky on Unsplash
Charlotte Hamrick 
Excellent–the bus not taken.
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Clearly developed, Charlotte & deftly presented. I’d bet we’ve all got one (or more) of these departures to reminisce upon. Mine involves leaving her, pointlessly weeping in a phone booth. Best departure I ever made.
Congrats on a great write.
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The final image of the closing bus door is very nice.
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We never forget these choices, or what might have been, the branches reaching out beyond imagining. (K)
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