I met a woman at a bus stop once.
She sat next to me, which I, being a teenage boy in a school uniform, found peculiar
As that sort of image usually acts as a repellent for kind-looking individuals.
Though, I was glad, and promptly shuffled over.
As she sat, she began to speak to me, and her lips pursed and carefully let out each syllable with such care,
As though every sound she produced meant something special - something beyond the confines of the English language.
I recall her introduction, as she looked to me and smiled;
'Hi, I'm Joanne, and you?'
Without thinking, I shook her hand and we began chatting.
At this point, the bus was probably thirty minutes away, and we knew this conversation had an obvious expiry date.
Joanne then spoke of her husband, who had recently lost a hard-fought battle with pancreatic cancer,
And made what I initially thought to be a mundane passing comment, as she noted that I resembled him —
Though, I had no reason to inquire as I was hardly in a position to request information about a strangers deceased husband.
As she continued, she repeated a phrase which she said her husband used to often ramble:
'Another day in paradise', and smiled each time.
At the time, I never understood the four words she had said again and again, and I questioned what she had meant by it.
Even now, writing this, I struggle to comprehend what one could infer from such a vague phrase.
Though, the answer seemed much clearer as our conversation approached its inevitable end,
And Joanne once more commented on how my hair fell to the side much like her husband's.
As the bus sluggishly made its way to the stop in front of me,
Joanne stood, with the blinding sun above illuminating her and the blackest black shadow below her,
As she said farewell, echoed the phrase one last time, and walked to the
Bus stop across the road, and took a seat.