“Are you lost too?”, Said the Autistic Little Boy to the Single Dad CEO Millionaire at the Bus Stop…
A Shelter From the Storm
The rain was relentless that October evening, drumming against the plexiglass walls of the bus shelter with a steady rhythm that should have been soothing but felt oppressive instead.
Water ran in rivulets down the transparent panels. It distorted the city lights beyond into abstract smears of color: red tail lights, amber street lamps, the blue glow of storefront signs.
Benjamin Cross sat on the cold metal bench inside the shelter. His charcoal suit jacket was darkened by rain despite his brief sprint from the office building to this dubious refuge.
His tie hung loosened around his neck. His dark hair, usually styled perfectly, was damp and disheveled.
He stared at his phone, though the screen had gone dark minutes ago. He wasn’t really looking at it anyway.
It was just something to do with his hands, a shield against having to acknowledge where he was and why.
At 39, Benjamin was the CEO and founder of Cross Tech Solutions. It was a cyber security firm that had made him wealthy beyond most people’s dreams.
His face had been on magazine covers. Industry publications called him a visionary.
He had a penthouse apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a luxury car he barely drove. He had investments that grew even while he slept.
What he didn’t have was any idea where he was going. He’d left the office an hour ago with no destination in mind, just a crushing need to be anywhere else.
The walls had felt like they were closing in. There were endless meetings, constant decisions, and the weight of being responsible for 800 employees and their families.
He’d walked until the rain started and then ducked into this bus shelter without thinking.
Now he sat soaked and aimless, watching buses come and go while he stayed motionless.
People got on and off: a mother with shopping bags, a teenager with headphones, and an elderly man with a cane. All of them knew where they were going.
Benjamin envied them that certainty.
“Excuse me.” The voice was small, tentative, and came from somewhere to Benjamin’s left.
He turned to find a boy standing a few feet away, maybe seven or eight years old.
The boy was wearing a navy blue hoodie that was too big for him and jeans that were soaked from the knees down.
The child’s hood was pulled up. Benjamin could see dark hair plastered to his forehead and brown eyes that didn’t quite meet his own.
The boy’s hands were fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. He pulled them back and forth in a repetitive motion that seemed more self-soothing than nervous.
“Yes,” Benjamin said, his voice coming out rougher than intended from disuse.
“Are you lost too?” the boy asked.
He spoke clearly but with an unusual cadence. Each word was carefully enunciated as if he’d had to think about it first.
His gaze fixed somewhere around Benjamin’s shoulder rather than his face. Benjamin felt something catch in his chest.
“What makes you think I’m lost?”
“You’re sitting at the bus stop but you’re not getting on any buses.”
“You’ve been here a long time. The 47 came three times. The 82 came twice. You didn’t get up.”
“People who aren’t lost know which bus they need.”
