That year, I was 16 years old and my father had just passed away in that cold late autumn. There were no Thanksgiving celebrating plans in my family that year. To make ends meet, my mother worked two jobs as a cleaning lady, and I had a part-time job in the downtown. It was the Thanksgiving night and it was raining and blowing. The shops were closed and the streets were decorated with the colorful lambs for the grant festival. My shift at work was over and I waited for the bus alone in the station.
The wind blew my thin coat and threatened to tear my worn-out hand-knit hat that my mother had knitted for me years ago. Wearing a pair of discolored pants, I shivered against the cold wind, deep in thought about how my father's death led to my family heart broken and how my mother and I struggled to work to support our family.
A bus approached as I thought these things. Fortunately, a seat on the bus was unoccupied and I took it with delight, placing my feet on the perfect spot close to the heater. I cherished the small comfort of the warmth as it seeped(渗透) through the bottom of my wet feet.
Then a gentleman, perhaps in his 60s, appeared from somewhere in the back of the bus. He wore a hat and a fine woolen scarf. Then he stopped and sat down next to me, placing a shopping bag between us. Through the transparent shopping bag under my nose, I vaguely saw a box with chocolate printed on it, a box with a music box printed on it, and a clothing-type thing. These must be the gifts for a certain girl and I also wished to get such gifts. When he noticed my stare, I looked away immediately and curled up to keep warm, or rather, to hide my embarrassment.
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Then the gentleman took the initiative to break the silence and started talking to me. …… He was nearly off the bus when suddenly I found he forgot his shopping bag. |