"This Just What You've Been Looking For"
by Patricia Abbott
The
#459 bus skidded on a patch of black ice that day, and although she was
preoccupied with a book, Lena glanced up in
time to see a small cake sitting in the middle of the road. Its improbable
location made her giggle loud enough to disturb the drowsing passengers. She
tilted her head toward the road, but by now the cake was no more than a pale
glimmer in the rearview mirror.
“Oh,
you missed it,” she said, looking around. “Pity.”
The
heads around her bobbed in unison as the bus moved bumpily toward town.
Later,
at her work station: fifth row, fourth desk, she thought about it—who’d put a
cake in the middle of a country road? And why not a box to protect it? It’d be
ruined in no time.
On
the way home, the road was empty of anything other than imploded tires, Big-Gulp cups,
and discarded shoes. She remembered the spot perfectly though—a stretch of
birch trees stood across from it, a well-tended farm lay just ahead.
Two
days later, the cake was there again and growing larger. It was now a two-layer
cake with silky white frosting. A trail of pink roses circled it. It rested on
a pale blue plate. A birthday cake perhaps? A surprise for a child on the way
to school? Again, no one else seemed to see it. Was the cake there for her alone?
The
cake had three-layers the next time she rode by. A pale green vine etched the
frosting. A layer of thick cream topped it. She didn’t really want to share it,
but her finger darted out to point at the cake before she could stop it. A schoolboy looked
up, followed her finger, and made a face. His index finger circled his head.
Daft. Perhaps she was daft.
Pillars
held up the layers a few days later. The cake was very tall now, and she
wondered how the bus driver managed to miss it. The blue plate had been replaced
by a large silver tray. It was raining, but the cake seemed impervious to the
damp, merely glistening a bit more than usual. The woman next to her gave a
start, and for a minute, Lena thought someone
else had the eyesight or attention or imagination necessary to see it. But the
woman sneezed instead.
“Bless
you,” Lena said.
A
groom stood atop the cake on the next trip. Lena
strained to see him. He was very handsome and wore the traditional attire but
seemed lonely. He held out a hand as if waiting for a bride to join him. She
rubbed her eyes, but he remained at attention. Alert.
On
Saturday, Lena did her errands. A bridal shop
was only a few doors from the shoe repair store, so on impulse, she stopped in.
She tried hard to imagine what the bride might wear, but there was nothing
suitable. It was all too modern.
"Contemporary,"
the clerk corrected her.
With
a bundle of her mother’s clothes to donate, her final stop was the Thrift Store.
Inside, she saw the perfect wedding dress—in a section at the very back. The
sign over the rack said, “This is just
what you’ve been looking for.”
And
it was. The dress was in wonderful condition because, of course, it had only
been worn once. She tried in on and it fit perfectly. The price tag was missing,
and the clerk let it go for a song.
“I
hope your day is as special as your dress,” the woman told her, her voice a
trill.
Lena didn’t correct the clerk because she
wasn’t sure herself. What was the dress for?
It
seemed odd to wear her dress on the bus, and she covered it with a coat despite
the warm temperature. She rang the bell as they approached the birches and the
well-kept farm.
“Here?”
the bus driver yelled. “You want me to let you off here?”
The
passengers’ eyes swung left and right. Shrugs.
“Yes,
if you don’t mind,” Lena said, walking down
the aisle. Nobody noticed either her dress, nor the heels that went with it.
Not the gloves, nor the flowers she’d tucked into her bag. Not her either. But
no one ever had.
“Sure
you got the right spot,” the driver asked again. “It's not your usual stop. There’s
nothing here but an old farm.”
“It’s
the right place,” she told him, feeling more certain all the time.
As
the bus drove off, she worried for a moment that the cake wouldn’t be there.
But when the fumes cleared, she saw it. It had a canopy now, and small birds
perched on it. As she neared the cake, she saw the groom looked more handsome
than yesterday. Wearing proudly his black tux with a red rose in his lapel. He
looked expectant.
“I’ve
been waiting,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it and climbed
up. “The dress is perfect,” he said.
“You are perfect.”
No
one had ever said such a thing to her before. But maybe it hadn't been true
till now.
