The Sunrise Bus to Chelsea
The minute she met him, she knew. A Five-Minute story
This story is posted for the writing prompt #4 Sunrise/Sunset
“Who is this? Do I know her?” She sifts through the shoe box full of old photographs. “He looks familiar … a cousin? I can’t quite remember — is it Ken? No, wait…Ben… that’s right…Ben. And this looks like … my Aunt Rose.”
“Yes,” he says, “that’s Cousin Ben and that’s Aunt Rose.”
The images slip through her fingers, like dry leaves, one by one, until she finds what she is searching for – a small snapshot taken on her wedding day. She’d handed her camera to a passing stranger. “Would you take a picture of us, please? We just got married.”
Claire had ignored all the warnings of her well-meaning family. She and Angelo had quietly slipped out of Brooklyn on the sunrise bus bound for Chelsea , Massachusetts. After the ceremony, they’d sat on a sunny bench next to the old courthouse, alone, just the two of them. They’d promised to love each other forever. They were just kids.
Everyone said it was impossible. How could it last? He was an Italian boy from Bay Ridge, only twenty years old. He had no family, really, his mother and an elderly aunt. He worked in the trades, with dusty hands and denim overalls. And he was Catholic.
Her Irish Protestant parents were outraged. “How could you do this to us? You’re too young, Claire. We made plans for you! You said you wanted to go to business college and take over as manager at Dad’s store. It has all been arranged!” And why Angelo? What was so special about this boy that she would disregard her parent’s wishes, cause them so much grief?
The minute she’d met him she knew he was smart and steady. He was the kind of guy that didn’t let life just happen to him — he believed in planning ahead. He’d apprenticed himself to a trade that would keep him employed, even in hard times and he’d be able to find work anywhere. One more year of night classes and he would be a journeyman plumber, and a proud union man.
He was kind and capable, and funny, yes. But what made him such a treasure in Claire’s eyes, was a rare gift that he had: Angelo knew how to listen. He paid attention to her when she spoke, as if she had something important to say, which she often did. He didn’t interrupt, he had confidence in her. Even when she was wrong-headed, he heard what she was trying to say. Even at 18, Claire knew that a man who listens is worth more than rubies.
It turned out, of course, that the family had been wrong about their daughter’s choice. And now, as they look through the old shoe box full of photos, she doesn’t recognize all the faces any more, or know all the names. Her memory is fading, she is easily confused, but she still clearly remembers that sunrise bus ride to Chelsea over sixty years ago. Her Angelo is still by her side and he’s still listening.
Oh wow, such a beautifully poignant tale, Sharron. Bravo.
My in-laws have been married for 55 years. People bet against that match in the beginning too.