Out In Front of the IGA
Dan Johnson
© 2008 / 13 March 2013

From my book “Lester Briggs Died Today”

The train slowed going through this cowboy town. The silver snake slid past the church, bank and the only diner in town.

Lester was old; maybe 69 or 82, hard to tell, it makes no difference whether up close or from a distance that was who he was.

His hair was white with streaks of dirty red, combed straight back. You could tell by the way he stood, he’d seen this train ‘afore, this’n and a thousand more.

He stood tall and proud by his faded old truck, probably had this thing since Donald was a duck.

Lester’s hat was wide to cover his squinty eyes from the sun, tilted slightly down, I’d say he was tired from his life’s work, work that was never done; tilling, planting, mending fence in the pouring rain, blistering sun, raging wind and blowing snow. Now Lester watches every afternoon…everyday…at 3:48, standing, hoping, praying and patiently waiting for her return.

Though he was sorry for never marrying her, truth was, he was never the marrying kind.

Each day, he’ll ask and answer, “Where you been, are you stopping soon?” Lester then said, “Don’t worry, I’ll wait right here for you, out in front of the IGA.”

The old man knew the answer to his questions because he’d asked them so many times before. She is not coming or stopping or heading this way no more.

The train slows to a gradual stop; people get off, people get on…conductor hollers, “All aboard.” And the Silver Snake slides off into the fading day.

Those that stay are greeted, suffer wet kisses, get hugged, slaps on the back and plenty of welcome home.

They all wait awhile on that sun drenched day, just hanging around before moving on to the rest of their lives…while Lester Briggs continues to wait out in front of the IGA.