The Yellow Dress

He was an odd soul, Buster; a rather short man who hadn't known how to smile. And as he waited for the trolley, slouched up against a light pole, he checked his pocket watch and sighed. He'd be late, again.

From the townhouses behind, a loud slap like a crack of thunder caught his ears. However, the beautiful girl in the yellow, summer dress who emerged from the townhouses caught his eyes. She was a dainty thing, small lips and a pinched nose. Nevertheless she was captivating. And had she not have been so concerned with rummaging through her purse, a lone curl of brown hair falling before her powdered face, she'd have felt his heavy glare.

Retrieving a ring of keys, she locked her door and descended down the threshold before disappearing into the busy folk of the city, and Buster watched her, almost finding a reason to smile. But he didn't. He followed her well into the crowd and would have pursued her had a blinding flash of silver not have distracted him. It was a ring of keys; they fell to the ground soundlessly and went unnoticed by the girl in the yellow, summer dress, for the roar and bustles of city life overwhelmed the small clank.

He stood still, unsure of what move to make next, and decided to glance at his pocket watch. Three minutes had passed. Lifting his eyes back to the ring of keys laying upon the sidewalk, which were occasionally being kicked and stepped upon by the hoard of dull suits and plain dresses, he raced towards them with an open hand and snatched a woman's ankle, summoning a shrill cry from her core.

"Fool!" she shrieked, swinging her bag at the poor dope. But he did well to dodge her strikes, wobbling upon his feet like an untrained stilt walker. And when the woman found it in herself to leave him be, Buster nearly found another reason to smile again. But he didn't.

Gathering his senses, he bent over and reached for the keys, swinging the ring around his finger and whistling a jolly tune. He searched for the girl in yellow, summer dress, stood upon the tips of toes, but found that he was much too short for the towering crowd. And when he tried to squirm past them, he found that strong elbows were jutted into his side and heavy feet trampled upon his shoes. Still, he searched.

But she couldn't be found.

And before he headed back to light pole, he caught a flicker of yellow in his peripheral. His fingers clutched the ring of keys and he craned his neck to follow the bright color, but the traffic, honking cars and large trolleys, distracted him. And as he squeezed past the crowd of city folk, a rough shove landed him in the middle of the street where a trolley nearly ran him over, one in which a familiar girl wearing a yellow, summer dress sat in its upper level.

No smile overtook him, but his eyes widened and his heart raced. It was her. Running down the street, ignoring the obnoxious car horns and screeching brakes, he chased after the trolley. And when he was close enough, he latched onto the railing, but the guard, who stood at the top of the staircase, crossed his large arms and smirked. He was a tall man, towered over Buster and made him feel insignificantly small; and his gut was large, leading Buster to question how a man of his size was physically possible.

"We're filled to capacity," said the guard, but Buster, chest still rapidly rising up and down from his mad sprint, wriggled his thick eyebrows in confusion and attempted to explain his plight,

"But, Sir, there's a young woman on board who's lost her keys. And I'm trying to return-"

"There's no room!" the guard bellowed, shoving Buster off the trolley. He flew back and rolled over his head, causing his pork-pie hat to fly off and a few strands of his hair to fall before his pale face. But he quickly jumped to his feet and dusted himself off before adjusting his hat and dashing back to the trolley.

His feet carried him far enough to catch up as it was halted by a cross guard's hand, and without taking to the stairs, he hooked his fingers upon the edge of an open window and climbed in. The older man who was sitting near it with his grandson grabbed at his chest and fainted at the sight of what he deemed to be a ludicrous man creeping through the trolley window. As Buster hopped over the young boy's lap, the child called for the guard, who was too busy raising his fist and arguing with the cross guard.

"Thief!" one woman cried, pointing a trembling finger at him as he raced down the aisle. And it was upon her words that the guard left his argument and pursued the menace he swore he had gotten rid of one block ago.

"Halt!" he shouted, charging after him, and it didn't take him but two enormous steps from his long legs to reach the little fellow in the pork-pie hat. But due to his weight, each step swayed the trolley from left to right like a boat at sea during a vicious storm, giving Buster the chance to scurry away from him. And when he reached the stairs, the trolley charged forward upon the cross guard's command, and the guard was thrown off his feet, causing a slap which was loud enough to wake the older man.

Gripping the railing to the stairs, Buster managed to climb up upon his hands and knees, trying to sustain his balance until he found himself at the upper level where a few people occupied the seats. Spying the young girl in the yellow, summer dress, he drew in a sigh and neared her. And before he plopped down beside her, he retrieved the ring of keys, fixed his hat, and tightened his tie. However, he went unnoticed, for her eyes were too consumed by the scenery. In fact, she hadn't even felt the movement of her seat shifting from his weight.

Upon clearing his throat, she turned to him, and found that he held his head high and sat casually with his arms crossed, showing little to interest at all. Slightly, he cocked his head to the side and glanced at her, unfolding his arms and swirling the ring of keys around his finger.

"My keys!" she cried, instantly clutching them with a wide grin. "Oh, Sir, you really shouldn't have."

He beamed at her with glee, nodded his head in agreement, and filled his chest with pride, for he had done a good deed for a pretty lady. But his hopeful feeling soon faded upon her continuation,

"But they are quite useless to me."

He sharply glanced at her as she continued, holding up the ring of keys before his eyes, "You see, they haven't even been cut yet." She sweetly smiled before tossing them into her purse, and he sighed, slumped back in his seat, and checked his pocket watch. He was late, again.