Waiting

The man’s head was throbbing. A bead of sweat dripped down his face. He squinted into the sun, blazing at 104⁰ today, and wiped his brow with the edge of his shirt. He wished desperately for a breeze; cool and fresh making the palm trees bend with its power.

                He looked down at his watch. A quarter passed two. She was supposed to be there at two o’clock sharp.

                Late again, he thought, plugging in his earbuds and turning up the volume.

                He concentrated on the music. The band always on temp.

                “I bet they’re never late,” he grumbled.

                He picked up a stick and started drawing pictures in the sand at his feet.

                Johnny loves Carla; then a heart around the scribbled words.

                He heard footsteps approaching and quickly erased the message. The one he could never bring himself to admit out loud.  

                “Sorry I’m late; but you know how Dale is, can’t stand to see me go.” said the sweet voice of the woman he was waiting on. The woman he was always waiting on. The woman he would wait on for the rest of his days.

                “No problem, let’s get going we’re late.”  He replied grabbing her hand and pulling her down the street. 

The End

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