This story was the result of a writing prompt I pulled from a prompt book. I hope you enjoy.
The Old Lady
“Oh, you can go ahead of me, ma’am,” Oliver Brooks said politely. The lady was old and was struggling with her packages. The crowded post office was abuzz with holiday spirit.
“Oh, that’s quite alright.”
“I insist,” Oliver replied.
“You’re too kind, sonny.”
“Well, ’tis the season!” He stepped aside as the lady passed by him slowly. The line was crawling, but he was in no hurry. Patience was always a a strongpoint of his. As he stood behind her, a faint memory came to him. One from his childhood, long ago, when he would wait at the grocery store line behind his mother while she picked the items to remove until her total was affordable. Those memories were few and far between now, lost with the passage of time. He was abandoned at the age of twelve, tossed through the foster care system, and bounced around from house to house until he was 18. Now, he was a successful fast-food chain owner, having worked his way up from the bottom while surfing his co-workers’ couches.
“Lots of gifts to send?” He decided to strike up conversation to pass the time.
“Oh these are just sweaters and scarves,” she said with a warm gentle smile. “I enjoy knitting, been doing it since I was much younger, oh probably around your age.”
“How nice,” Oliver said, as he reached into his warm winter coat, feeling the scarf that he was wearing. It was the one thing that stayed with him through his foster journeys. She saw him doing this and smirked. That fact, it was familiar to him. No, it couldn’t be, he assured himself. “So those gifts, they’re for… your kids?”
“Just my friends,” she said, still smirking. “I don’t have kids.”
“Well that’s sure nice of you to knit for all of your friends,” Oliver said, now slightly relieved that his curiosity had been resolved. She wasn’t who he thought she might be.
“Well,” she paused, “’tis the season.” Oliver chuckled and they shuffled again, now at the front of the line. “What’s your name, sonny?”
“I’m Oliver,” he said.
“Well, Oliver, happy holidays.” Her smirk had disappeared. Her face was mostly flat, almost as if she was disappointed upon hearing his name.
“Happy holidays to you as well, ma’am,” said Oliver, as the sweet old lady gathered her packages and headed for the front counter.
“Here,” Oliver jumped in, “I’ll give you a hand.” He grabbed a bundle of her gifts, the return address catching his eye, and helped her to the front.
“You have got to be the most respectful young man I have ever met.” she said, giving Oliver a gentle pat on the shoulder.
Her touch ran through him and made him shiver. It was something he hadn’t experience in a very long time. “Well,” he paused, “I was taught to be at a very young age.” She smiled at him one more time and thanked him as she turned to send off her many boxes. As Oliver went to fetch his items to bring to the next open helper, he grabbed a small box and a greeting card. He carried everything up to the front, “I’m sorry,” he said, “can you just give me one more minute? Last second gift I just remembered.”
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