“Mr. Bimal’s wife says there is heavy snow forecasted for this evening, so don’t go,” my wife said as she stood in the doorway, swaying our daughter in her arms.
I was going to the city of Boston for the second time and it had only been three weeks since I came to the United States. “I don’t care what the weather does,” I told my wife as I left. It was the first week of March. The year was 2013. Snow piles had not yet melted away on the roadsides, corners of parking lots, and bottoms of trees.
Walking some thirty minutes along Main Street, I reached the Walpole Center and took bus 34-E for Boston, which I reached an hour and a half later. When it was almost evening, I decided to return home.
At Forest Hills, I grabbed a bus and train schedule from a booth and put it into the front pocket of my blue jacket. Then I took bus 34-E from Forest Hills.
Through the glass window, I saw tiny snowflakes drifting in the air. At once, my wife’s voice echoed in my ears, but I dismissed it immediately.
Through the glass window, I saw tiny snowflakes drifting in the air. At once, my wife’s voice echoed in my ears, but I dismissed it immediately. At each bus stop, more passengers got off the bus and fewer passengers got on. As the bus almost reached the halfway point to Walpole Center, it turned into a parking station on the right and came to a complete stop.
Seven or eight other passengers got off the bus one by one, leaving me alone and surprised. I unwillingly got up from my seat and walked up to the driver.
“Why did we stop here? This is not Walpole Center, is it, sir?” I asked.
The driver was resting his chin upon his wheel, waiting for me to get off the bus. He said, “This is Walpole East. The bus doesn’t go to Walpole Center at this time on Sundays.”
It was already 5:30 pm, and more snowflakes were floating in the air. Suddenly, nervousness overpowered me. I checked my old iPhone, which was dead already. I stood in the doorway next to the driver.
Seeing my confusion, the driver said, “Why don’t you go to the restaurant over there and call a taxi?”
It was already 5:30 pm, and more snowflakes were floating in the air. Suddenly, nervousness overpowered me. I checked my old iPhone, which was dead already.
I got off the bus and looked around. There were a couple of vehicles parked at the corner of the station. I crossed the road and looked in the direction the bus had come from. I thought the restaurant the driver had mentioned was there. I narrowed my eyes, but there was no restaurant. To read more, go to Amazon.com. . .