Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Day. Night.

Eric moved his head, trying to get comfortable against the cool window of the bus. It was a long ride, but he could not get to sleep, no matter how hard he tried.

So, he was just staring out the window as the trees let in slits of light, turning the bus into a miniature world with five second slides from night to day.

Giving up with the idea of sleep, Eric put his head back on the rest and watched the other people on the bus. The bus was about half full, with a few couples sitting with each other, but mostly one person, sitting by the window or the aisle, with an empty chair next to them.

For all the people on board, it was a shockingly lonely scene. So many people, all in one place, but few of them together.

It was a cross country drive, over a week long, and they were only into the third day. Everyone had a lot of time here to be alone together, as long as they chose to.

Eric stretched and put his head against the window again. He was still tired, and this time he fell asleep.

---

The next day they all got off and got onto a different bus. Some people left, some people got back on, but everyone was alone again. This time, though, Eric noticed that there was more... life on the bus. And it all seemed to focus on one person.

She was a young woman, couldn't be older than 25, but she was moving about the bus, talking to people. She started at the front, speaking with the driver, then slowly worked her way back as the drive wore on.

Even the most sullen and silent of the riders spoke to her at least shortly, and by the end they were usually speaking quietly, almost conspiritorially, as you would to one of your best friends and closest confidantes.

Finally, about six hours into the drive, she made it to the back, where Eric was sitting. He knew she would get there eventually, but even so he was still a little shocked she would talk to him. Eric was, to put it mildly, quiet and shy. He made no effort to get people to talk to him, and often would chase them away if they were getting too close.

He was afraid of people. They had always turned against him in the end.

Even so, he found himself smoothing back his once black, now going to gray, hair and adjust his shirt so he'd look less rumpled as she approached.

It was the first time he got a really good look at her. She was short, and a little heavy, with brown hair and eyes that seemed to be swallowed by darkness in the dim light of the bus.

Her voice though, was light and melodic, carefree as a bright spring day. "Hi, my name's Edith Densa. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Eric, his own voice deep and not a little nasal, replied "Sure. Not reserved."

She sat down with a smile. "You probably noticed me talking to everyone else. I'm not a reporter or anything, just an interested young lady who likes to find out about everything anyone could know. So... what do you do for a living?"

"I'm an architect. Well, I used to be an architect."

"You used to be an architect?"

"Yeah. I built houses. Beautiful houses. Well, on the outside at least. Hollow on the inside, though."

She cocked her head questioningly, "Did that disturb you?"

"You could say that. Hollow homes housing hollow hearts," Eric smiled a tiny bit. "Nobody ever appreciated the beauty of the little things that go into a house. Everyone wants the big showy pieces, the river running through it. The simplicity of a house that stands by itself, a house that is built perfectly for it's purpose... such simplicity seems to elude people."

"So you stopped building?"

"I stopped building. What's the point in making something that no one but yourself could possibly appreciate. I'll draw my blueprints and imagine how it would look, how it would stand, how it would hold against the rain and cold and serve all it was made to serve exactly as it should. Then I'll put them away and start anew another day."

"That seems so sad."

Eric was feeling a little wistful now. Thinking about what he used to do often did that to

him, but usually not like this. "Oh, I may sell the blueprint some day, but not unless I was really certain the buyer would appreciate it. That they would understand it."

The woman was looking at him now, nodding as he spoke. "You just want them to feel the same love for your craft that you do?"

"Yes..."

She smiled a little again. "That's not so sad, then."

"Maybe. As long as there's someone out there who does."

"Why do I get the feeling you do, at least a bit?" Eric asked, a little bit more loudly, more quickly than he had planned.

Edith smiled, more brightly this time. "Oh, I care about everything, at least a little bit. Not deeply, not like you or anybody else does. But I do care. It's something I can't help. I care about everyone, everything. A gift, a curse, a blessing." Her smile turned sad. "A little bit of everything. But not all of anything."

Eric looked at her oddly. "That seems so sad."

"It can be," She perked up a bit. "If you let it." Then she stood. "It's been good meeting you, sir. I hope you find someone who cares like you do."

Then she was gone.

Eric sat silently for a few minutes, then got out a pad of graph paper and started sketching.

---

Author's Note: This short story is a little unpolished. I wrote it all up in about 45 minutes or so, not really knowing where I was gonna go with it. Came out rather well, IMO. But don't take my word for it. Tell me about it. Drop me a line at

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