Oh, some day this turned out to be!
With a heavy sigh Emma detached herself from the building facade she’d been leaning on for the last five hours, and began dragging her feet along the pavement. Home, then.
She was right outside the barbershop, her fourth Saturday afternoon in a row, waiting and hoping to see him again. Hoping, too, that he might somehow see her and recognize her.
She’d gotten up extra early that morning and cheerily hummed her way through breakfast. Her befuddled older siblings could only silently raise their eyebrows; they already knew better than to try deciphering what strange ideas occupied her mind this time. Afterward she did all her household chores with a faint smile on her face, barely speaking; she then announced she was taking a bath, and came back down almost two hours later in her favorite dress — the one with the pink flowers, the one that her mother had asked her to save for very special occasions.
“I’ll grab a sandwich at the plaza on my way to the library; don’t worry about me.” She was out the door before anybody could respond.
Emma was so sure that he’d be here this time. Could a man not visit his barber for three straight weeks? Impossible! And he’d have to come in the afternoon, too, no doubt. Almost nobody came to the barbershop in the morning, except perhaps some of the lame, idle ones. Which he definitely ain’t, no way!
She counted a total of two hundred nineteen blue cars, forty-seven buses and thirty-three bald pedestrians. Yet, no Him.
Her eyes started flooding as she walked away from the barbershop, but Emma willed herself not to cry.
I’m not giving up, not now.
Soon enough I’ll see you again, and then I’ll be braver.
And then you’ll know all about me, Dad.
Writing prompt, “some day,” courtesy of Inspiration Monday. Quite rusty, but happy to be back!