Member-only story
The Old Man’s Promise
Short Story
When I was a young boy, I’d walk down to the corner store with my mother every Friday. She would always pick up freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast and flour for her special chocolate chip cookies she’d make for Sunday dessert.
Across the street would always sit an old man who sat on a bench reading the newspaper with yellow lilies in a new vase sitting right beside him.
While my mother was shopping I would always stand beside him and have conversations. At first, my mother thought I was a bit bothersome to him, but he assured her that I was no trouble. Sometimes we’d talk about school and chores, and when I got a little older, it was about girls and college.
Now as a young man, We still kept the same routine except this time, I was the one buying stuff for my own apartment. He still sat alone with just his newspaper and a bouquet of flowers. His wife had passed away a few years ago from old age, and he keeps her memory alive putting fresh flowers in her vase every Sunday.
“One of her favorite things in the world were flowers,” the old man said. “ I made a promise to her before we got married that I would always come home every week with a fresh bouquet.” He looked down at his left hand that still held his wedding ring. “Life just isn’t the same without her.”
