The Observer

The women looked on as the old man shuffled off the porch. She had been to the store to purchase some everyday items and had watched the man deep in his memory. She wondered what in his past affected so. Pain, hurt, love. She thought of the rocking chair, and how it came to be on that porch.

The winds blew around her, pulling strands of hair from her pony tail. She was 11. It was an unusually cool summer. At that time, the porch only held backless benches for resting one's weary bones. The owners, a couple who had been there since forever, didn't mind the occasional sitter, but certainly did not want anyone sticking around too long. The porch was attached to a general store, the only one in the small town.

Shielding her eyes from the sun, she saw the uniformed man step off the bus. He held a duffel bag and a wooden box. He glanced up and down the street, but no one came to welcome him. Adjusting his belongings, he walked down the street in the direction of the general store. She didn't recognize him and wondered who he was.