No One Ever Comes

He’s not coming. No one ever comes. No one ever keeps promises. I could walk the length of this parking lot a hundred times until the school buses pull away and the cars empty out, and still I’d be waiting. No one ever comes.

My mother never came in the spring, when I’d stand outside the school for half an hour with nothing to do but picture her in my mind: sleeping, eating, on the phone, or anywhere but where I needed her to be. She didn’t come months later when I finally gave up on waiting and trudged home in the snow. Walking home gave me no comforting distractions to the piercing accusations of my mind. "You knew this would happen, and you still asked for a ride. You still trusted her. You gave her another chance, and now you are paying for it. Now you are being punished for it."

My friends never came to pick me up for school when my father went away. Sometimes, they accidentally slept in. Sometimes they just forgot and went to school only to curse me for not being there. It didn’t matter what the excuse was; I didn’t care. Either way, I sat deep in the cushions of the couch, clad in my thick winter coat, watching the shadows on the wall for headlights to turn into my driveway.

They never came.

And he won’t come now. Just like the rest. I shouldn’t have trusted him, shouldn’t have sent my friends ahead thinking that he would be here for me. No one ever comes.

I watch the buses pull out. I can’t help looking lost though I want to pretend that everything is fine, that I’m just on my way to my car like the rest of the seniors wandering around me. I don’t want them to know that I am alone. For some reason, the thought of being offered a ride out of pity makes my stomach clench. But it doesn’t matter if they see. It’s hard to care. It’s so hard to pretend.

The final school bus pulls away from the parking lot, and I spot a gray truck across the way. A young man stands next to the passenger side and waves me over as if nothing has occurred. As if everything is fine.

For the moment, my doubts and my pain are washed away by relief. He came. As I make my way across the lot to the man, only a distant pang of fear rings through my mind.

I wonder if he’ll be here next time.