Musings on personal growth, books, motherhood, writing, and more.
Flora indulged in a long blink as she clicked through screens to help the customer across from her make a withdrawal from his savings account, according to the withdrawal slip he had handed her. She had a thousand other things she could be doing right now. But none of them paid her bills, as being a bank teller did—monotonously.
“It’s August through November,” the customer said, in a voice that reminded her of Winnie-the-Pooh.
She paused and looked at him. He was a short man with bushy, white hair and a kind face. “What?”
“My account number. After the zeroes. It’s 8, 9, 10, 11. August through November.” His eyes twinkled with curiosity and enthusiasm.
His eyes had what hers were missing.
Flora laughed. “Yeah! That’s cool!” She smiled at him. “Here you go. Have a great day.”
“Thank you. I hope you do, too,” he said, and he moved away.
“I will,” Flora whispered to herself. He had reminded her that life was never empty of interesting things, and, most of all, people—as long as she was not empty of interest.