The cold wind drifted the rings of smoke from the old man’s cigarette around the cold air and the smoke eventually disappeared. He had an old cigar in his wrinkled palms and even in his hands, it rested rather sloppily such that if it fell, it would not be too much of a concern. The man, or rather the name scarcely anyone used—Gus—was sitting by a small bench located outside a small town’s railway station. It wasn’t much of a station, rather two goners’ benches, one more worn out schedule board which none bothered to replace and the likes of an erupting train now and then.

“You know that, Gus, you shouldn’t be out here. It’s freaking cold,’ one of the voices broke the monotonous quiet.

Gus did not turn his head. He knew who it was – Helen, who worked in the station for the entire time that Gus could recall. To put it mildly, she was the type of woman who knew everyone’s details come rain or shine whether you liked it or not. A few of the residents found her to be too prying but Gus did not mind. It was not as if he had anything scandalous to cover up at his age anyway.

“Is it freezing?” Gus asked in a low voice. He held the cigarette in his mouth and inhaled lightly so that his words could intertwine with the smoke.

Helen inched nearer, folding her arms in an attempt to fend off the chill. Even how she dressed in her coat, a shocking cobalt-blue color that did not go with the rainy-coded day, was a sign of her standing out; the only warmth in a cold and dull surroundings. “You know it is. That cigarette ain't gonna help either. They got you, no? They'll kill you.”

Within the confines of his mouth, it was the noise that was made more like a wheeze that escaped. Gus chuckled softly, as if it had been too long, "If I was worried about dying, I’d have quit a long time ago.”

Taken with that sigh, Helen sat by him on the bench, still leaving some space from him. “You’re a stubborn old man, Gus.”

“Stubborn," Gus repeated and shook his head. “Not sure I’d call it stubborn. Just don’t see much reason to quit now, is all.”

There was a long pause and where the sound of the train cannot be heard and there were a lot of grief noise in such silence. Sitting very still, Gus’s eyes were on the skyline for what? He did not know.

“You waiting for a train?” Helen asked, her voice softer now, almost as if she were afraid to break whatever trance he was in.

“Nah, just sitting. Always liked sitting here. Used to bring Margaret here. Back when we were young.” He paused, the cigarette now just a stub, barely holding together. “She loved watching the trains pass. Said it made her feel like she could go anywhere, even if she never left this damn town.”

Helen looked at her palms, not wanting to look up at Gus. ‘She was a good woman. Margaret.’

‘Yep.’ Gus nodded, slowly, more like a faint ‘yaay’. ‘Yep.’

More didn’t come from him, but plenty went through his mind back to the days spent with her. She had been full of life, her eyes always sparkling with a thousand untold stories. They’d sit on this very bench, her arm wrapped around his, laughing about something insignificant. Time hadn’t mattered much then. It felt endless. But it wasn’t.

‘It’s been some time since she is gone right?’ Helen threw the question lightly looking to the side at him.

“Six years,” Gus said quietly. “Six long years.”

Helen clenched her teeth. She knew that Gus wasn’t scared of her bringing up the touchy subject, but it left her in a strange place, unsure how to continue the conversation. “Do you ever think about leaving? This town, I mean.”

Gus shook his head, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “But where would I go? Margaret’s here. And she always would be.”

Helen opened her mouth ready to answer something but no words came out because she knew that there was very little that she could say to that. What would she say? That there are other places? That things could be different? It would sound hollow, empty.

“That is so you, ” she said instead, as she got up exclaiming dust off her coat. “I should get back inside. You, though… you should come in, too. Get warm.”

Gus dissuaded her from insisting. “I am alright here.” Helen must have sensed something amiss but decided not to argue him. “Alright. But don’t sit out for too long.” He agreed even though he had no plans to shift from his position anytime soon. But even so, Helen lingered for a moment before finally turning and heading back inside the station.

Gus watched her go, then turned his eyes back to the tracks. It felt strange, sitting here alone. This was their spot, his and Margaret’s, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Everything felt off-balance. Like the world had tilted slightly, and no one had noticed but him.

He lit another cigarette, the flame flickering in the wind before catching. He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and then slowly exhaled. There wasn’t much else to do. The train would come, or it wouldn’t. He would go home, or maybe he wouldn’t. Life had become like that—one long string of maybes and what-ifs.

While sitting at his desk, a particular memory returned to his mind, clear and sudden within him. It was one of the last days they spent together. Margaret had been ill for some time now; a sort of a lingering illness. They had come to the station as they had always done. She had been feeble, so weak she could not even stand up, but she was determined to come. ‘Just once more, let me take a look at the trains,’ she had hastily stooped to whisper to him.

They sat there, side by side, fingers intertwined as the darkness crept in. It was that contemplation that made him remember the resignation in her eyes, but there was peace there too. “You won’t be in trouble, Gus,” that was how she calmed him down as her hand held onto his. “You are braver than this.”

But he hadn’t been. Not really.

The far away screech from the train revived him from that imaginary voyage and Gus squeezed his eyes shut, annoyed that he was on the verge of tears. It didn’t come though and so he quickly brushed it away as if people were staring sitting in the room as there were none. The end of the cigarette was already burnt down to the shallow end and he flicked the stub off of his hand, stepping on it instead.

As the train approached, Gus felt the familiar rumble beneath him, the vibrations traveling up through the bench. It was comforting, in a way. The train rolled past, its long line of cars clattering along the tracks, and for a brief moment, Gus imagined himself standing up, boarding it, leaving this place behind.

But he didn’t.

When the train disappeared around the corner, there was silence all around, perhaps even louder than it had been before. Sighing, Gus slumped against the back of the bench though he could see his breath moving with the chilly air. He was not expecting to catch a train, not in a manner of speaking. There was some other thing for which he was waiting, something impossible to specify.

For now, however, he would remain. Remain on this bench, in this town, that Margaret had been living between the trains. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.