Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [104]
It was a sunny day in Florida; the brightness made her squint even with sunglasses on. With only a few puffy white clouds marking a light blue sky, the sun was in its glory: Reflections on the tips of the spiking waves of the Tampa Bay sparkled like diamonds. A few of the ever-present scavenger seagulls winged by, and though Michal couldn’t hear them—the air-conditioned bus was closed tight—she knew they’d be spouting their typical raucous calls.
Pulling herself straight in her seat, Michal spied an overhead sign saying the North Skyway Fishing Pier was one mile ahead. The landmark held dozens of cars, with even more people positioned around its railing fishing. A couple pelicans were sitting boldly atop the piers—eager to glean offerings from generous fishermen.
The spans and massive cables of the bridge came into view next. The cables were at parallel diagonal angles so that they resembled masts from a ship and their accompanying extended sails. Painted a bright golden yellow, the result was an imposing, awe-inspiring structure. And then her gaze was pulled to the breathtaking scene before her. The bridge curved down to the left, water all around, where the South Skyway Fishing Pier extended off to the right. The city of Bradenton beckoned from the south—beckoning her personally, it seemed. She sat back contentedly and closed her eyes.
It wasn’t long before the low hum of the engine and the gentle rocking of the bus soothed Michal back to sleep. The next time she was roused by commotion on the bus signaled their imminent arrival at the station. Fellow passengers were busy gathering their belongings; impatient children were hard-pressed to stay in their seats; and others were eagerly staring out windows, seeking familiar sights, pointing them out excitedly. Michal joined the latter group, eyes scanning the area for a glimpse of her aunt’s bright yellow sports car.
The bus pulled to a stop, its brakes complaining about the imposition. At that moment, Michal saw her. She was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat over her short brown hair, a pair of denim capris with a crisp white cotton blouse, sandals. And she was waving like mad. Michal beamed, waving back.
When the driver opened the door, the bus wheezed like an arthritic old man. Michal made her way slowly up the aisle, backpack hanging over one shoulder, a small purse strap over the other. Smiling, gracious, she waited for families to exit the rows in front of her. Generously volunteering to help those with small children. Since you never got anywhere quickly in Ethiopia, Michal had learned patience. To appreciate the road traveled as much as the destination. And to attend to the needs of people rather than a timetable.
When she climbed down the steps, Michal was immediately enveloped into Aunt Sarah’s waiting arms. Her aunt gave the type of hug Michal had longed for all her life—one that her parents, for whatever reason, had never been able to give. Michal felt every contour of her aunt’s body fit snugly to hers. There was no shyness in this hug—only vulnerability, total giving, and the physical manifestation of unconditional love. It seemed to proclaim, “I will hold onto you until you say, ‘That’s enough.’” Aunt Sarah graciously allowed the recipient to set the agenda; that way, her niece received all she wanted and needed. Aunt Sarah made sure of that.
When Michal pulled away, she looked into her aunt’s smiling face. “Welcome, my darlin’ Michal. I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to having you come back again. To come home.”
It was exactly the right thing to say.
Michal took in the bright, twinkling eyes and laugh lines around the wide, smiling mouth. She knew her aunt spent little time frowning or complaining. Instead, Sarah focused on finding the joys in life, seeking any excuse to burst out with a quick “Ha!” of laughter, searching out