The Lemon Yellow Silk Scarf

Write a story or poem about finding a scarf on a chair in a bus station. The scent on the scarf reminds your character of someone he/she used to know.

The Lemon Yellow Silk Scarf

John watches the snow outside the rear door of the bus flutter to the ground in fat white flakes. His frozen breath escapes in short bursts as he stands on the bottom step rubbing his hands together.

“You going or not bud?” the driver says, twisting in his seat to see who is holding up his route.

Raising his head, John’s face is pale. The driver taps his thick fingers against the steering wheel.

“Hey buddy, are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good. The snow’s coming down pretty hard, isn’t it? I have another bus to wait for in this mess.”

“Look, I gotta get going cause there’s people waiting to get places, ya know?”

John surveys the empty bus and half smiles at the driver. “’There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go.’ Have you ever read Tennessee Williams? My wife loved his stuff.”

“I don’t wanna be rude here buddy, but I really gotta take off. If you don’t wanna miss your next bus, I suggest you get off this one.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Hunching his shoulders against the wind, John steps out into the bitter cold. Shuffling toward the bench inside the glass bus shelter, he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his wool coat, dragging his feet in the snow as he walks.

Slumping onto the metal seat, John spots the lemon yellow silk scarf lying on the bench next to him. His fingers flutter over it as he closes his eyes.

“I’m here Liz,” he says cupping the scarf in his hands. “Help me remember you.”

John lifts it up to his face and breathes it in. The heady aroma of jasmine takes him back to Liz.


She taps her foot while waiting for the bus to arrive. Fat snowflakes stick to her hair turning it a deep shade of red as they melt.  She’d never have the chance to take refuge under the bus shelter John now sat in, because the city wouldn’t build it for another three years.

“I should’ve brought my scarf.” she mumbles, shaking out her curls.

John reaches forward, rushing over to Liz.

“Don’t go.” John pleads, leaning closer to brush the soaking wet curls flopping around her face back.

Liz’s cheeks flush a deep red. The remarkable shade spreads a splendid radiant heat throughout his body. 

“John? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been riding the bus to this stop for a while now Liz. I always bring one of your silk scarves with me to leave on the bench in case the one I’ve already left is missing when I get here. I make sure to spray it just once with your favorite jasmine perfume.”

John frowns when he catches the faint sound of an advancing engine. He strokes Liz’s sopping wet hair, leaning even closer so he can whisper the next words into her ear.

“’I shall but love thee better - after - death.’”


The pneumatic doors of the bus whoosh open and the driver shifts in his seat to gawk at John.

“Yo! It’s freezing out here guy. You goin my way or not?”

Opening his damp eyes wide, John stares up at the driver.

“Yeah, this is my bus. Sorry about that. Just give me a quick second; I forgot something in the shelter.”

“Sure guy but hurry. I’m turnin into an ice cube over here.”

Running into the shelter, John places the lemon yellow scarf back onto the cold metal bench.

“’Death ... the opposite is desire.’ Sleep now Liz…until tomorrow.”