Bus Stop

The squeaky metal bench was still cold from the chill of the early morning when I sat facing the sunrise. A morning person might have called it a beautiful day, but I was struggling to keep my eyes open in the blinding light of another new day. I silently cursed my neighborhood for the thousandth time for the drunken 19 year old accident that fell through my windshield and consequently caused the morning’s extra dose of misery.

I reached into my backpack and retrieved the mid-century novel I had been nursing for the last few weeks. As usual the words were quickly muddled together in my mind as my concentration slid in and out. Instead of following the mildly interesting characters throughout their moderately interesting social hurdles, my imagination was wandering back up to my apartment and into bed. The sheets were probably still warm, and after a few extra hours of sleep I could get that last bagel. Maybe I’d put some cream cheese and a little avocado on it. Was there even any avocado left? I had almost successfully convinced myself to go back to bed when I noticed there was someone walking up the street.

The usual panic I feel at the thought of interacting with a stranger went immediately into effect and suddenly I was extremely aware. I was aware that the bus was running late, and that there weren’t many cars on the road. I was slouching a lot. I had lost my place on the page in my book. There was a suspicious looking stain near the outside seam of the jeans I’d been wearing for the last four days. I couldn’t remember if I put on deodorant. By the time I had decided to run and hide in my apartment, it was too late. The person was close enough that it would have been embarrassingly obvious that I was running away.

It was a tall thin man, who looked like he’d had a late night. I noticed as I tried desperately not to stare that he carried a worn out guitar case on one shoulder, which made him lean slightly to the side where his hood was pulled forward to block the sunlight. In his other hand he carried a plastic shopping bag thin enough to reveal Chinese take-out boxes. It didn’t occur to me until much later to notice that at 6:30 am, Chinese take-out was not a normal thing to be carrying. He walked with his head slightly down and a long stride that made him rise and fall in a way that reminded me of the carousel scene in Mary Poppins. I pretended to be interested in my book and tried to keep “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” from getting stuck in my head. I failed.

When he sat down my side of the bench bounced just slightly, making a piece of my faded red bangs fall out of my carefully careless ponytail and into my eyes. It made my nose itch.

I looked over at him for what was supposed to be only a moment, ready to give a polite “good morning” smile before engaging in my usual avoidance techniques. Thankfully, he wasn’t looking my way. He was leaned forward with his elbows perched on his knees, pulling an abused looking Camel wide out of his slate grey shirt pocket and up to his chapped thin lips. They didn’t look like the kind of lips that were accustomed to smiling. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, and his stubble had a red hue when the sunlight hit his face. I realized I was staring when I noticed him noticing me.

“Cigarette?” He mumbled in a tired, gravelly voice. His dark hair looked dirty, but fell nicely around his stormy blue eyes.

“Um,” I took a little bit too long to think about it, “sure.” I didn’t have a lighter.

He pulled another one from his pocket. Silently he offered to light it for me, and silently I was grateful, even though letting guys light my cigarette had always felt a little weird to me. The first inhale reminded me that I only liked menthols, and that I had been casually attempting to quit.

“Thanks.” I said. He nodded.

We sat in silence as the bus continued to be late. I felt the increasing pressure to make conversation weighing down on me, as if someone was slowly building a brick wall on top of my shoulders. I couldn’t keep from glancing at him. I couldn’t see his eyes, so there’s no way he’d notice unless he sat back, but it felt like I was invading his privacy.

I turned my attention to an ant on the sidewalk. There were no other ants, just the one. He kept turning this way and that, apparently confused. He didn’t seem to know where he was going. He probably had no idea why he was even out of his ant hill, especially at this hour. His little antennae flailed about wildly as he searched for a purpose. I named him Garret.

After what seemed like a lifetime, though I still hadn’t finished my cigarette, the tall guy sighed and leaned back on the bench, bouncing his knee anxiously.

“When is the bus supposed to get here?” he asked me. I momentarily forgot what a bus was.

“Uh, I don’t know.” The words hung in the air in front of me, pointing and laughing as I slowly remembered. “Well, I mean, it was supposed to already be here.” I checked the time. I should have been walking into class at that moment.

“Awesome.” He coated the word in a thick layer of sarcasm and closed his eyes, leaning his head on the back of the bench with his arms crossed over his chest.

The silence was growing again, gorging itself on my uncertainty and fear of new people. It disgusted me, like watching a fat man at Hometown Buffet. I felt guilty for thinking that, so I turned my thoughts to my cat, or rather, my parents’ cat. I missed him.

I picked at my nail polish, feeling a tiny chip fly at my face. I hoped it didn’t stick. “I’m going to be late for class.”

“You’re insane.” He said without a twitch. I thought it was kind of rude.

“What? Why?”

He raised one eyebrow and said “You signed up to take a class at 7 am, there’s no other explanation.”

Okay, he had a point. “Yeah well, I skip it a lot.” I said, scraping the last bits of matte blue off my pinkie.

Half of his mouth turned up in a sleepy smile. It was a nice smile. “Understandable.” He said.

“Looks like I’m skipping today.” I said. “Where are you trying to get to?” I asked.

“Somewhere else.” The words sounded heavy. He sat back up and opened his eyes. “But I guess I’m stuck here till this bus comes.”

“Yea, that sucks. Somewhere else sounds nice.” We made eye contact. Of course I immediately panicked and decided to look instead at the guitar case. “You in a band or something?”

“No,” I thought I heard a trace of regret in the word. “Well, I was, for a moment. I sold my guitar though, that’s my suitcase now.”

“Ah,” This conversation was going nowhere. “Cool suitcase.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, I was out of things to say. “Well I guess I’m going back to bed. Good luck with the bus.” I stood up and put my backpack on.

“Yea” He mumbled, staring off down the road.

I began to walk towards the gates of my apartment complex. I thought about the ant, and somehow felt a gust of bravery.

“Actually,” I started. Doubt was already seeping in, “my apartment is that window right there, you can wait for the next bus up there if you want to. I mean my couch is more comfortable than that bench, and I have Netflix.” I was officially terrified, but there was no turning back now.

“Uh, are you sure that’s cool?” He said, looking as surprised as I felt.

“Umm…” My thoughts were racing. “Yea, why not?”

“Ok, uh, yea, thanks.” He smiled again, and picked up his guitar case and Chinese food. “I’m Garret, by the way.” I laughed. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, “I’m ____.” We shook hands. His grip was soft but controlled.

We walked upstairs. We played scrabble and split the last bagel, there was no avocado left. We had Chinese food for lunch later. I’m not sure if his bus ever came.