The rain had stopped but the whole street still smelled like wet dust. A smell I enjoyed very much since I was a kid. I was sitting on the old bench by the bus stop. The bench had one leg shorter than the others so it wobbled if you moved too much. You could fall if you didn't pay attention, as I have countless times. I kept one foot pressed hard on the ground this time, so it would stay steady.
A girl came walking up, holding a black nylon bag. She looked about sixteen maybe seventeen. Braids hanging loose, some already undone. She looked straight at me and said,
“You look like you been waiting here all day.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I have.”
She looked at me like she was in doubt. Then she sat right beside me even though the bench was wet on her side. She didn’t care. She took out a piece of bread from her bag and stuffed it in her mouth.
“You want?” she asked, pushing the bread at me.
I waved it off. “No thanks.”
“You sure? It’s fresh. My aunt baked it this morning.”
I gave in and took a piece. Warm bread in the middle of a cold wet evening is something you don’t say no to.
She chewed loud and then asked, “So what are you waiting for? No buses today. Flooded road past the junction. Everybody knows.”
I stared at the road. Cars still spraying muddy water every time they passed. “I know.”
“So why you here then?”
I didn’t answer right away. She leaned closer like she wasn’t going to let me escape.
“Alright fine,” I said. “I’m waiting for my sister. Haven’t seen her in years. I heard she sometimes walks past here. Thought maybe I’d run into her.”
She tilted her head and looked at me. “Why haven’t you seen her? You fight or something?”
“Yeah. Over something stupid. A goat. Mama’s goat. She said I should feed it. I said it wasn’t my turn. Words were said. Ugly words. And that was it. Three years gone just like that.”
The girl whistled. “A goat. You serious?”
“I told you it was stupid.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “So you gonna say sorry when you see her?”
“If she lets me.”
The girl laughed. “That’s dumb. If you sorry just say sorry. You adults make everything into a drama. I steal my brother’s slippers I just say sorry. Done.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because sometimes words don’t fix it. Sometimes they come too late.”
She looked at me a long time before saying, “Silence don’t fix nothing either.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
We sat quiet for a while. Then I saw her. My sister. Walking down the road in a faded yellow dress, umbrella dragging in her hand. She looked smaller than I remembered or maybe I was just older now.
My chest went tight. My hands were shaking.
The girl beside me nudged me. “That her? Go then.”
“What if she walks away? What if she hates me?”
“Then at least you’ll know. Better than rotting on this bench.”
I stood but my knees felt weak. My voice cracked when I called out, “Bisi.”
She turned. Her eyes widened. She stopped but didn’t come closer.
“It’s me, David," I said. “I just came here to tell you that I’m sorry. For the goat, for everything. I'm sorry.”
For a moment I thought she would just keep walking. Then she laughed. A soft laugh but it cut through the noise of the road.
“You’re still dramatic,” she said.
I swallowed hard. “So you forgive me?”
She nodded. “I forgave you long ago. I just kept wondering when you would show up.”
The girl beside me clapped her hands like she was watching a play. “Finally. Adults acting like humans. And the best reunion of the year award goes to...”
Bisi frowned. “Who’s this?”
I turned to look. The bench was empty. No bread bag. No braids. Just rain dripping from the shelter roof.
“I… I don’t know,” I said. The strange girl was already walking down the street. She clapped as she did.
Bisi shook her head but slipped her arm into mine. “Come on. Let’s go home. I've missed you.”
And as we walked away I felt lighter. Like maybe Thursday evenings were not such a wasted thing after all. Maybe sometimes the rain washes away more than dust.
