deep & sharp weather

"Better the blue silence and the gray west,
The autumn mist on the river,
And not any hate and not any love,
And not anything at all of the keen and the deep..."
from "Three Pieces on the Smoke of Autumn"
by Carl Sandburg.

Greyhound Station
Late Fall, 2002

High above, one lone star glinted between dark clouds.

Beyond the bus station's neon sign, the corals and pinks that heralded dawn crept upward.

Behind him, the Ohio River was a churning gray ribbon under the sky, and wind whipped leaves danced along the building's brick facade before being tossed into the gutters.

Fox Mulder watched the rusty leaves skittering against the wheels of the Greyhound bus as it slowed to a stop.

The bus doors opened in a puff of warm air and his eyes searched the passengers as they disembarked and scattered like the leaves. Some entered the warmth of waiting cars, others dashed across the wet street to the Metro bus station.

Many had the tired, satisfied look that declared 'going home'; others, the focused look that said they were busily going on with their lives, their work.

None of them noticed the lone figure who paced along the Greyhound station wall, carrying two untouched cups of coffee.

After an agreed upon year of no contact, he had sealed his hope inside a letter, and mailed it to her --to them-- with shaking hands.

"I'll be waiting. Please come. I love you." Three little sentences. Eight small words. Thirty one letters on which to pin hope. The two weeks since he had written to her had seemed an eternity.

When she received the envelope bearing the pasteboard tickets and simple message, what had she done? Had she rejoiced? Had she tossed them into the trash?

He watched shadowy figures behind the tinted windows. Had it been too long? Was it too soon?

The shape of the future rested upon her response. His teaching job at the small university was peaceful, even enjoyable, and he'd rented a lacy looking Victorian house with plenty of room for a family. It was close to a park for Wim, and beautiful St. Ben's Cathedral was walking distance for Scully. Heck, the town even had a haunted library for him. So far, no ectoplasm had been found smeared on the card files, but he held hope.

He hoped Scully would find this sleepy river town a good place to finally get out of the car. He smiled. Hope. He'd been doing a lot of that, lately.

The driver nodded as one last passenger disembarked, and the luggage bays in the belly of the bus clanked shut.

Two crushed cups of coffee hit the sidewalk and rolled into the gutter, their warmth leaching into the stone as tiny steam ghosts fled through the cracks.

He stood for a long time after watching the doors hiss shut behind the driver, then he shivered and blinked his stinging eyes.

He shook himself and then on unsteady legs, followed the wind blowing the dead leaves, away from the garish neon station lights, away from the churning gray river and pink tinged dawn sky.

-fin-

Author's end notes.

Thanks to Jen for wonderful Beta assistance and some great poetry suggestions! The poetry excerpt is from "Three Pieces on the Smoke of Autumn" by Carl Sandburg. Thanks to Mo and Marie for support, encouragement, and title selection assistance.

I intentionally did not include Angst in my headers, I did not want to telegraph the ending. Hope no one was trauatized.

I've always wanted Mulder to come to my town, so I decided I'd just have to bring him. FWIW, there is a Riverside Drive, and the Greyhound station in Evansville is close to the Ohio River. St. Benedicts's Cathedral is beautifully real, and the Willard Library is haunted. Or, at least there is a camera tracking the Gray Lady. Here is the url just in case anyone wants to look at nothing for a while. Evansville Courier & Press Ghost Cam

Thanks for reading.
Shelba
[email protected]/[email protected]

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