Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Well, well. That sounds lovely, sonny.”
Her nickname for me is starting to catch on. Sounds like “sunny”. I’ve always liked sunshine. It’s my favorite thing to see every morning on the streets.
It indicates an end to another terrible, restless night.
“You know, sonny … life is full of choices,” she says. “Good ones. Bad ones. Difficult and easy ones. It’s all part of the journey of growing up. I think it’s a mighty fine goal of yours, to choose to put good out into the world, just like you say … no matter what it is you do.”
My chewing slows.
“I know you may think I’m just some old lady on a bus who has more yesterdays than tomorrows, but I see hope in your eyes, and … and I see brightness in your future.”
Hope in my eyes. Brightness in my future.
I wonder suddenly if she’s smarter than I took her for and didn’t believe a word of my lie.
“You will face many more struggles in life,” she goes on. “Some will be the simple choice of whether to accept a sandwich from an old lady on a bus. Other struggles will seem insurmountable. Perhaps you’ve faced a few already. But please, allow an old lady her chance to put some good out into the world before her time’s up.”
She reaches across the aisle and touches my arm.
I flinch and stare at her, wide-eyed.
“Do you need a place to stay tonight, sonny?” she asks so softly, the engine of the bus nearly steals her words.
I clutch her flavorsome achievement of bread, lettuce, and lunchmeat in my dirty hands. Her fingers are cold, yet her eyes are blazing warm. I smell her homemade cookies. I feel her tucking me into a safe, soft bed. I hear the hum of a TV in the other room where she and her husband sleep. I experience all of that, just with a peek into her eyes.
This is one of those struggles. One of those choices.
To those warm, blazing eyes, I give her my answer: “I-I’m going to my Uncle Don’s. H-He’s expecting me.”
She doesn’t move for a while, still staring at me. As if waiting. Giving me one last chance before the door closes.
Then she gives me a crushed, sweet, saccharine smile I will remember for weeks to come. “Of course, sonny.”
It’s the last exchange we have.
After I finish the sandwich, I pack away what remains of the water for later. For the rest of the way, we ride in silence, enjoying the roar of the engine—and her husband’s snores, which have since grown softer, as if the man has finally found a pleasant dream.
I hope I find mine, too.
Soon, the destination is reached, and everyone gets off the bus. I don’t wait for the old woman, hurrying off in the first direction I find. I pass intersections, gas stations, and strip malls. Where do I go now? As I stroll aimlessly along the road, I consider the cash in my pocket, the backpack over my shoulder, and how many minutes I have left of the sun sitting up there in the sky.
How long will I wander before I find where I belong?
How many more bus rides? How many more nice old ladies? How many more sleepless nights?
I stop at the last intersection before a causeway, where the sight of the Gulf of Mexico takes me by surprise. I gaze at it in wonder, a hopeless dream swelling in my heart. The salty air tosses my bangs and makes me aware of the dirt on my skin. I think of how good it might feel to have those cool waves racing over my bare feet, cleansing my weary body … Will it ever be possible to feel happy again?
A hanging sign by the road creaks as the wind blows, as if in answer. Dreamwood Isle, it reads.
Chapter 2 - Cooper
Something’s missing.
My nuts, to be precise.
That’s three cans of salted nuts to go with a twelve-pack of Pepsi that went missing yesterday. Do I have a thief on my hands now? I’ll be damned if it’s any of my small, trusted handful of employees here at the bar, but you never know. We’ve all fallen on hard times.
“Boss, the front’s getting busy.”
I sigh at my shelves, then turn to face Mars—short for Marcia. Her pixie-like face is hugged by a curly, frazzled mane of dark brown hair, her tawny skin sleek with sweat. She’s a godsend. I’m thankful her taqueria-running mom can send her over to help me on busy nights like these.
“Something wrong?” she asks.
I swipe a can of nuts off the shelf. “Just missing some inventory. Not sure how.”
“Hmm. Haven’t seen anyone back here all afternoon other than you, me, and Chase.” She makes a face. “Well, there is some shady underage dude who’s sneaking around the bar for the past few hours. Had to kick him out twice already.”