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That's not the word Mrs. June Sylvester would use to describe the resignation with which her body stuffed through its eighties, but she could see it in the eyes of everyone who came around - for a visit, to pray with her, to help out, even those who came to talk over a cup of coffee. 

She had now gotten used to the way their eyes carried her to a graveyard that was not yet her own - the way their smiles said, “in loving memory”. A memory. That was what had become of her. 

Lord Please. Just once.

She wanted to live one more day as she used to. She missed being a vibrant young woman, daring and rebellious. She had so much to share, stories to tell, but no children to listen. All her children had scattered across various continents, and although they phoned her often, it was never the same as being with them. 

Her first son, Richard, had hired her a private nurse, but it had only made her feel worse - or better put, it had made her feel like a fruitless science project. 

She missed riding the bus and the train - not so much the plane. She had never appreciated airplanes, except for the speed, she didn't see the need for them. Piercing the clouds and bracing turbulences. Goodness, no! Life could be so much better without them. Her heart always jumped outside of her chest every time the plane took off, and crashed right back in when it banged against the ground in its disturbed definition of landing. If everything came to a still like that, what would be left of the world? She wondered. 

During every flight, she would subconsciously cling to whoever sat beside her. That was how she met Collins, her husband. On a flight to Mauritius. But she did not like to think about it. She did not want to think about it. 

Judith, her private nurse, had gone to the supermarket to get groceries when she wheeled her chair out of the house. Good thing the entrance didn't have stairs, she could easily ride her wheelchair out and back in. And today, she was going out. Did they want her to die first before taking her outside?

The bus-stop was barely 10 steps away from her house, she could quickly catch the bus and let it toss her about and bring her back home. She liked that the first bus she had seen was the one that provided for differently-abled and elderly people. She could wheel her chair into the bus conveniently without feeling like a vegetable that has been placed in boiling water. Colourless and weak. And moreover, she could get on the bus without being spotted by her nurse. June knew she would have no chance of going anywhere if she was spotted by Judith.

In the bus, she shuddered at the thought of how age had stolen her youth. She didn't hate it, but she didn't like it either. She could barely do all the things she loved to do - gardening, taking long evening walks by herself, singing under quiet rain, writing. 

The last time she tried to write, she couldn't get past a sentence. Her hands trembled until she had no other option than to let the pen go and write the story in her head. It used to be one of her favourite things when she was much younger, writing in her head, but now it felt like a punishment. Besides, no one could even read the stories in her head. 

Science hadn't found a way to do that and she doubted God would even let that happen. There was something very central about the head that she was so certain God wouldn't give man the mechanics to work that space out like that. She laughed as she thought about the ignorance of men. How foolish they were to think that science was theirs before it was the Lord's. They must have created themselves then. She laughed again.

Funny how the human race just seems to be advancing into a deeper ignorance. She thought she could almost taste their naivety on the tip of her tongue but she didn't want to waste her time thinking about science and how men were so clueless.

She looked around, taking in the youthfulness of the people boarding the bus. She had no doubt she was the oldest person in the bus. Abruptly, the bus stopped at the city's center. A woman in a yellow hijab with two children beside her hurried into the bus. They sat just in front of her, beside a petite girl reading a book she could see was titled - Paper Towns. 

The mother had asked the daughter to go sit two seats ahead seeing as the space couldn't take all three of them and the little girl had grumbled her way into separation. 

It reminded June of what it was like to be her mother's daughter, to be the easy-to-let-go option but she didn't want to think about it now. Her mother was long gone, she might as well let the dead rest in God's warmth. She was thankful that her mother knew God. Albeit, in her own delusional way. Although, some time in her last days, she did come to know the Lord as the Bible showed Him.

She watched as the hijabi lady, somewhat out of breath, asked the young lady why the bus had reached the stop so fast. June understood the woman's pain, the bus had arrived way earlier than its usual time. She remembered the schedule as she used to use the bus a lot before life offered her a wheeling chair.

The young lady politely laughed, took her eyes off the book and engaged the woman briefly in a conversation. June loved the exchange, the way the young reading lady reminded her of herself - not interested in meeting new people but still extending a kind arm to strangers. It warmed her heart when the hijabi woman giggled at something the lady had said while holding onto her children as they alighted from the bus. The wave, the smile, the children's cute nod, all these things warmed her heart. These were the things she lived for. Then, as a young girl and even now, as an old woman.

As the bus circled back to where it had picked her from, she wheeled down. The driver had refused to take money from her no matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise. From his looks she guessed he was somewhere in his thirties. She couldn't help but notice that he was a beautiful young lad too. As he drove off, she said a short silent prayer for him. 

Her body ached. She had exhausted so much energy already, she imagined the dilemma Judith must be in right now having returned home to her absence. She felt pity for the young nurse, but even more so for herself. She did not deserve to be treated like an egg, she wanted to enjoy her remaining days. Not count the hours till she couldn't open her eyes again.

She wanted to live. As she used to. As she knew how to.