Page 84 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
FROM:Mum
SUBJECT:Re: Me communicating. Finally.
But you never liked hugs. You would stiffen and stand still as a statue.
Mum
FROM:Sophia
SUBJECT:Re: Me communicating. Finally.
Research shows trees respond to hugs. Plant cells can perceive pressure waves. Trees are still and unmoving. Meaning, I still needed to be hugged. I might still.
FROM:Mum
SUBJECT:Re: Me communicating. Finally.
You’re in London now, but I might go and hug a tree for you, since you say they can respond.
I smile as I type my reply.
FROM:Sophia
SUBJECT:Re: Me communicating. Finally.
That sounds good. Try to find a Weeping Willow, they’re the best ones to hug. They need the emotional support;)
My mum is going to go hug a tree, just for me.
Forty-five minutes later, a taxi drops me in front of a white house with a red door and a wild and unruly front garden.
I can tell immediately upon meeting her that Edith is a rubber plant, aFicus elastica. You might mistake her for something romantic like a lilac, or gorgeous like a rose, but that would be to underestimate her. She has large waxy leaves and can adapt to any situation. I know instantly that I can get along well with aFicus elastica.
‘My girl,’ she says and pulls me down towards her. ‘Finally I meet you. Would you like me to show you the way to Hornton Street?’
I manage Edith’s wheelchair onto the ramp of the red bus and park it in the dedicated space. When we get off the bus, she asks me to stop. It’s busy, and the pavement is dirty. Everyone walks faster than what I’m used to.
‘I will wait here. You go ahead. Straight ahead and on your right, a large rust-coloured brick building. You can’t miss it.’
‘I can’t leave you here,’ I object.
‘I have a lot of friends here. Half the neighbourhood. I’ll spot one of them soon enough. Go.’
Blade
London
I’m here to meet Eliza again, bringing the power of attorney form that Mum signed, and Mum’s message an hour ago makes little sense. I know she’s up to something.
You’re meeting someone. Be at the bus stop at three o’clock.
I make my way to the bus stop and sit, watching as people pass by, on their way to work and school and home, I imagine. To live life.
The knot that’s formed in my stomach keeps growing as the appointed time approaches. Did Mum feel this every time she stood here? I look down at my shoes, the leaves, the squares of the pavement. Then I look up and see her. Her arms sway, and she walks fast, too fast. Her eyebrows draw together and then—there it is, the smile. She’s here and she is smiling: that has to mean something. The town hall is to my left, and the library to my right, and there we are in the middle at the bus stop which must have seen thousands of meetings just like this one.
I walk towards her, and she nods as if to sayYes, it’s okay, and then I sweep her into my arms.
‘Sophia. You’re here.’
