A/N: HI GUYS. Yeah. I know. It's been awhile. Problem being, I can't exactly type at home anymore and even if I could, my parents are monitoring me… It's a long story. You won't find it all that interesting. The good news is, I have a TON of stuff written so if I type it all at school I can post her and yeah. HERE YA GO. Review if you love me.
Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson owns this heart rendering musical and I own this fic.
Waiting
The bench is cool and damp from the recent rain and Maureen slips her jacket off with a sigh, setting it down carefully on her seat before she sits. She has never been the most patient of people, even in her old age, and it takes all of her self control to sit still with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. Big brown eyes, surrounded by deep crows' feet, are cast towards the sky.
It's almost seven in the morning and the sun is peeking over the horizon, turning everything a pretty shade of pink. The darkness of the night is fading, as are the angry storm clouds that had been spitting lightning and roaring with thunder just an hour ago. Maureen is mesmerized. Her wrinkled hands absently smooth her white skirt over her knees as she gazes all around.
Other than the glowing orange orb that is the sun, the setting is hazy. Everything is covered in a fine white mist. As far as Maureen can tell she's in the park, the same one that she and Joanne had promised to meet at, and the grass and the leaves on the trees dotting it with sparkling with moisture. But then, where is Joanne? She's late.
Or Maureen is early… That's always a possibility. Her thoughts are jumbled and she can't remember exactly how she got here except that she had been crossing the street, carrying a bag of groceries-
Blinking back tears, she shakes her head and sends her gray hair- once luscious and dark- cascading over her shoulders to hide her face. One hand presses her mouth as the memories flood her mind, the hand with the golden band on the ring finger, the one with the diamond. It's difficult to hold back a sob.
Her ninety-third birthday party. Joanne had been so excited. She'd spent so long planning and calling up their old friends- Mark, for one, Mark with his camera- and hiring a caterer and setting it up at the community center. All Maureen had wanted to do was buy a bottle of wine in celebration. All she had done was leave an hour before to run to the store.
Joanne always said she was careless. That she should just accept some help once in a while. She could have used a Boy Scout to help her across the street, but none of those doe-eyed boys in their red neckerchiefs and their beige uniforms had been standing on the curb. She wouldn't have asked for help anyways.
It was New York City. Everything was fast-paced, too fast for an old woman, though she'd never admit it. Maybe she should have. If she had, she might not have ended up underneath the tires of the bus.
Face ashen, the former performer tore her eyes away from the sunrise and the sparkling trees to look down at herself. No, nothing was out of place- same simple white skirt and blouse that she'd put on this morning fresh out of the shower, squirting her favorite perfume in liberal amounts onto herself. The same gray jacket with the oversized black buttons. The same sandals with the butterfly clasps at the ankle.
Her heart should have been thundering in her chest, but with a gasp she realized that it wasn't. Her hands scrabbled at her chest, clawing at the fabric of her blouse. But no, her heart remained silent and still. When the initial panic had worn off, her hands fell limply to her lap again, twisting her fingers together.
This wasn't right. This shouldn't have happened. Ninety-three wasn't as old as most people- she still had life left in her! As did Joanne, her poor Joanne who would be ninety-four in a month and a half… Would be facing this birthday without her wife at her side.
Maureen begins to wonder, as the thunder that has been rumbling in the distance dies and the sun climbs higher in the sky, if she should get up. Go looking. Perhaps she will find her lover wandering this strangely empty, misty city somewhere in search of her?
But then, Joanne isn't dead. Her body hasn't been crushed, ribs cracked and split open, blood seeping onto the asphalt. And while this is true, she could die at any moment. And she, Maureen was sure, would go looking right away.
Exhaling in a soft, shaky sigh, the woman on the bench closes those brown eyes again and straightens her back once more, hands folded neatly in her lap. It was time for the waiting to begin.
She had never been the most patient of people, but for Joanne she would wait forever.