He’s maybe twelve, wearing a blue jacket, and he’s got Danny’s ears.
I know that sounds insane. But Danny had these ears that stuck out a little, and this kid has the exact same ones, and my legs have stopped working.
Seven months ago, I buried my son.
He was eleven. A car accident on a Tuesday morning. I’d dropped him off at school, kissed the top of his head, told him I’d see him at three. I never saw him at three. I’m Tom, and I haven’t been able to drive past that school since.
I started going to this bus stop because it’s on my way to work and I can’t sit in the car anymore without my hands shaking.
Then I started noticing the boy.
First time I thought it was grief doing something to my brain. Second time I made myself look away. Third time I counted the similarities on my fingers and ran out of fingers.
Same build. Same way of standing with his weight on one foot. Danny used to do that.
A few days later I was close enough to see his face when he laughed at something on his phone.
My stomach dropped.
Danny had a gap between his front teeth. This kid had the same gap.
I told myself it was nothing. Kids look like other kids. I was a father who missed his son and I was seeing things that weren’t there.
But I kept going back.
This morning the boy dropped his bus pass and I picked it up and handed it to him and he said thank you and his voice was Danny’s voice and I had to grab the bench.
“Thanks, mister,” he said.
I managed to ask his name.
He told me.
And then the woman next to him – I hadn’t even seen her standing there – put her hand on my arm.
“You’re Tom Bellard,” she said. “Aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
For more gripping tales, read about what happened when a husband came home at 4 AM and said one word, or check out the story of how someone called Ron’s bluff in the cafeteria.
