I was standing on the corner of Sixth Avenue and Seventh Street, waiting for the Loa bus. I was cold, so I began shuffling my feet and clapping my hands together. In doing so, I worked up an interesting rhythm.
A dog sidled up to where I stood and looked up at me expectantly. I figured he was hungry, so I tore off some of the fried chicken I'd been eating and gave him some. He seemed grateful, but rather than look to me for more, he put his ears back and stared down Seventh.
From that direction came slowly an old man, hobbling along on a pair of crutches. His face and arms were covered in sores and bruises, and he was having a hard time breathing. As he approached, the dog went up to him and licked his hand. I stopped shuffling. He chuckled.
"You don't want to stop now, son," he said to me weakly. "You're almost there."
I had no idea what he meant, but the spark in his eye made it clear that
he did. The dog wagged its tail. The old man sat himself down on a bench I hadn't noticed was there. I sat down too. I looked down Sixth, then straight ahead. He looked at me looking.
"What you want," he said, "is not far off."
"The bus?" I asked. "I imagine not."
"No, not the bus. What you want. You know you can have it."
I stood up and started to walk away. Then I stopped and walked back. I looked down at him and he met my gaze, smiling. He drew a pipe from his coat pocket, struck a match to it and smoked, all the while studying me. This weak old man was not weak at all. He had resolve to beat the band.
I wanted to tell him I didn't know what he was talking about, but something stopped me. Because I knew what I wanted. Maybe he was right. The dog looked at me, then at the old man, and then back at me. The Loa bus pulled up to the corner and the door opened wide. A wave of warmth hit me.
"It's my bus." I said quietly. "I have to go."
The old man nodded. "I'll see you," he said.
He and the dog watched me climb aboard and take a seat near the front. I turned to wave, but the old man had picked up his crutches and was walking on up Seventh. The dog trotted down Sixth.
Out with the old year and in with the new. And where does that get you? The old one was a perfectly functional year. Why, just last October it was winning accolades at the annual awards ceremony. It was sunbathing at Saint Tropez last July. It fell madly in love in April. Why, just last February it finally shed its training wheels.
