The elderly woman got off the bus, and yet turned as if to get back on, but the bus was already moving before its doors could close.  She did not step back onto the curb, as he, stepping into the crosswalk, expected; she appeared instead to summon the bus that had just come to a stop across the street.  He waved wildly to catch and direct that bus driver’s attention to the elderly woman, but the driver was already waving out her half-open window, and even leaned to say something through it.  The elderly woman stepped back onto the curb and took a seat on the bus-stop bench.  I’ll wait, she called out, beckoning him.  She patted the seat beside her.  You remind me, she said, how my husband too at your age would naturally help needy strangers.  She told of a few instances, and of how her husband had been a great help in her life for four years before passing away fifty years ago.  Though, he’s still my hubby, she insisted.  He had to look away even though she didn’t.  The bus driver from across the street was pulling her bus into their stop.  The elderly woman took note of it and clapped, and had him help her to her feet and onto the bus.  At the top step, she held onto the bus driver’s arm and turned back to stare at him and say, Fifty years ago — today.  The doors closed before the bus moved.  He ran alongside it, waving, not sure why, and yet, the moment she spotted him and waved back, he let her go.  Their goodbye had been gotten said.