Routine Break

Eleanor hated taking the bus at this time. Every week, she packed a bag and headed to the beach, typically on Wednesday; typically at that time before morning and noon, when it was not quite morning, and not quite, well, noon.

Today was different. One cat got stuck in the closet, and the other had a hairball on Eleanor’s sheets. Crazy cats, Eleanor thought.

It was 2pm. The bus was packed. School must’ve gotten out early, and the smell of men’s Old Spice deodorant and knock off Chanel wafted through each row, not masking much of the pubescent aroma of her companions. There was no sitting room, and Eleanor was stuck between two boys, each a foot taller than she. You’d think the teenagers might let her sit, at her age, why wouldn’t they? But no. Eleanor was smushed, and the teenagers smelled. There were six stops left before hers, but she couldn’t handle it much longer. With a jerk, the bus rolled up to Hollister Avenue.

“Excuse me,” Eleanor said, as she weaseled her way to the front.

The bus driver looked up at her.

“Back door, ma’am,” he said.

“No thank you,” she replied, and with a curt nod, pushed at the door.

The sun was bright. Her skin was no longer soft, so Eleanor opened up her parasol and started to walk. This wasn’t her normal route. The sidewalk here had large cracks in it, the cars were faster, louder. The people passing by weren’t smiling as much as they usually were.

She sighed. Today was different.

On her left, the bus was turning slowly back into traffic. On her right, a community garden peppered with sunflower stalks stretching into the sky. They loomed above her, the weeds surrounding them strangling the fence.

Well, this is something, she thought. Can anyone enter a community garden? It is a community garden, is it not?

Eleanor turned the corner towards its entrance. There was a gate, with no padlock, and a sign with no listed rules. She unlatched the gate, and stepped in.

Each plot had its own color, it seemed. One had roses, fuschia, and dahlias, pinks and reds. The one across had white poppies, and lilies next door. Eleanor smelled lavender and sage before she saw it, and watched bees float past the zinnias and marigolds. With a careful step, Eleanor made her way to the sunflowers. They swayed with the breeze, almost as if they were dancing to an unseen sound.

“Hello, friends,” she said to them, and for the first time today, she smiled.

“Hello?” A gruff voice replied.

Eleanor gasped, clutching her parasol just a tad bit tighter.

“Is someone there?” She asked.

Eleanor turned, as an older man, though slightly younger than she, walked over from behind a tree she had ignored. He was weathered, tan, and upon seeing him, Eleanor noticed that he had a silver prosthetic leg. Their eyes met, and she could tell, just by looking, that he was kind.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, “I was just talking to the flowers.”

“They’re not very chatty, huh?” He answered.

“Not today, I suppose.”

“Do you have a plot here?” The man asked. Eleanor flushed.

“I was just visiting this one,” she said.

The man chuckled. “Good one to visit. The sunflowers are my favorite too.”

“I was just leaving,” Eleanor said, and with another infamous curt nod, she faced the fence.

“You don’t have to go, it’s all right- I was just coming to say hello to them too.”

Eleanor was embarrassed. She positioned her parasol to block herself from view, and headed towards the gate.

“I have some seeds, if you want them,” the man said, “Sunflower seeds, not the eating kind, although, I guess they are one and the same.”

Eleanor stopped. “Are they really?” She asked.

“Technically the same family, but treated in a different way. Do you want them?”

“I don’t have a garden,” Eleanor said, with her back still turned, “But thank you.”

“You can plant them here, if you’d like. Say, have we met before? You remind me of someone, but I can’t remember who. I’m Tomas, what’s your name again?”

“I do not know you-“

”Well I guess now you do, so what’s your name?” Tomas asked.

Eleanor turned, frustrated, she was supposed to be at the beach. The beach was her happy place, and she needed a bit of happy right now. It had been only three months since her husband of twenty years had passed, and Eleanor had gone to the beach every week since. There was nothing like watching the plovers and sandpipers run back and forth in the waves, or the pelicans soaring regardless of the tide, to take your mind off of heavy grief. The garden was a pit stop. This man, Tomas, was taking up her time.

“I am not in the business of making new friends, currently,” Eleanor said.

Tomas held his hands up. His eyes seemed to sharpen.

“Well, when ya are, I’m here most of the time. Sorry to disturb, ma’am.” He said, and then he headed away.

Eleanor sighed. Am I crotchety? Is my age showing in my speech?

She looked after Tomas, watching him limp slightly towards the sunflower plot. He was kind. His eyes were kind. No harm in new friends, Eleanor, you are being silly.

“Tomas- um, I am going to the beach. I got off the bus a bit too early. Would you mind pointing the way?” She called after him, knowing very well which way the beach was.

Tomas turned. His eyes smiled once more.

“The beach?” He asked.

“Yes, it’s Wednesday. I like to go to the beach on Wednesdays.” Eleanor answered.

“Wednesday is as good a day as any for the beach,” Tomas said, “I can walk with you, if you’d like, if you don’t mind a bit of a slower pace, that is.” He gestured to his prosthetic leg.

Eleanor chuckled. “Tomas, I am seventy three years old, a slower pace would be preferred.”

Tomas grinned.

“A question, though,” Eleanor started, “Do you happen to wear Old Spice? I cannot stand the smell.”

Today was a different day indeed.