she totters over to the bench and leans on the glass to take a rest.
glasses adjusted
watch checked
throat cleared
she waits.
she waits better than her sons and her daughter
better than her grandchildren in seattle
better even than the counselor they're sending her to see for her forgetfulness.
she has waited all her life, and it comes naturally to her.
she doesn't fidget
she doesn't sigh
she doesn't pace around reading the bus schedule every sixty seconds to fill the moments.
she is still
enjoying her breathing
noting the angle of the sunlight on the downtown buildings she can see from here
musing about whether to make chocolate pie or banana cake for homecoming at church.
when the bus comes, she will
climb the stairs slowly
make a joke with the driver
and ride all the way to the pretty coffee shop across town.
at the shop, she will order a large latte with almond milk and hazelnut
and she will sink into the plush velvet chair in the thick of things
people watching and sipping.
she giggles to herself at the prospect of this small private luxury
this weekly adventure that's her own favorite secret.
she has earned it.
she waits.