Bus ride

I couldn’t believe it. Even as the scenery sped by the window, my eyes were focused on the person beside me. Greens, reds, and yellow went by in flashes through my peripheral vision, signalling the grass, stop signs, and cornfields that populate my hometown. The bus vibrated underneath my feet as wheels traveled along the black pavement, bouncing as it hit potholes.

My embarrassment was higher than I’d ever thought possible. We hadn’t spoken in months, not since the incident. The tanned skin and freckles, the curly black hair, blue eyes that seemed deeper than the largest ocean, they all belonged to the person who ripped my heart out. It was left bloody and broken at my feet. All it took was one question and a giddy, unplanned response.

I licked my lips and averted my eyes, examining the cracked faux-leather of the large seat. The bus should have crashed and turned into a giant ball of flames, anything to get me out of that situation. I was so desperate, so depressed; I wanted nothing more than for it to go away.

He was wearing a grey t-shirt with black letters on the front and dark-green shorts. I don’t remember what I was wearing, but, when I think back, I always picture myself with my grey turtleneck, the thick one.

Who was more nervous I couldn’t tell. It was so hard for me to look at him, but he seemed just as uncomfortable as I. However, he was the first to say something. I looked up at the sound of his voice and noticed that there were only three other people on the bus: two passengers and the driver. I didn’t recognize the passengers, but the driver was someone I had known for several years. Why we were on her bus, I never found out. She no longer drove to where he or I lived. In fact, I don’t think she ever drove his bus.

“So, how’re you?” he asked if I’m remembering correctly. I immediately dropped my head and begun wringing my hands. It was a good thing I had moisturized them earlier that day, because I would have been sweating profusely otherwise. I could already feel my underarm beginning to grow wet due to my intense nervousness.

“Why?” I asked as I looked at him. I’d spent so many days and nights wondering why, how, he would do what he had done to me. We hadn’t spoken a word to each other before it happened, and this was our first conversation afterward. My voice cracked slightly at the end of the syllable and I hoped he hadn’t noticed.

All he did was rub the back of his neck and sigh heavily. I had been hoping for an answer for what seemed like an eternity, with my only chance right in front of me, and I was watching it slip away. After all, we hardly knew each other. That probably should have been a clue as to his intentions, but euphoria wreaks damage on otherwise logical minds. I had spent days talking about how excited I was, how happy. When all was said and done, I was left to play the fool.

“No!” I said more forcefully. The other two riders and the driver didn’t seem to notice us, but he bit his lip and looked away. I grabbed his arm and our eyes finally met; brown delving into blue in search of what it would never find.

I can’t, his eyes seemed to plead. It was obviously paining him to remember what he had done, but I had been in pain far longer than he and felt I deserved an answer. What comes around goes around, or something like that.

“Why?” I repeated with more urgency. I let go of his arm and gripped the hem of my pants, drawing my right leg up between us. Leaning back against the window, I felt the vibrations of the road below as the bus ploughed on, never stopping and never slowing.

Again, he looked away and I felt my chest tighten. My breath came slowly, raggedly. My eyes began to water and I could taste the salt before the first tear fell. Why was he making it so hard? All it would take was one sentence.

He liked to play the tough guy. That must have been what he was trying just then. If I had thought of it then, I probably would have laughed, but life doesn’t work like that. The mind doesn’t work like that.

“I’m not asking again,” I managed to choke out as one lone tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly and hoped that he hadn’t noticed. I partially hid my face behind my hands by putting my fingertips together and placing the index finger against my forehead and my thumbs down at my chin Hoping that he might buy I was tired, I considered a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he stood up. The fabric of his shorts rustled against the seat and I hurriedly reached out, desperation gripping me. My fingers wrapped themselves around his palm. He looked down at me with a look of pity and something else. Fear?

“I need to know,” I asked, my voice aching. He may not have been what I expected, but I know I wasn’t what he wanted. Still, even I have my entitlements.

He said nothing, just looked from our hands to my face, to the ceiling. Clearly he was wanting out of there, as I had just seconds before. My chest grew even tighter as I waited, and my stomach began to painfully knot.

Our stands still clasped, he made to walk away but I stood up and pulled him back. For the first time, I smiled as I placed my other hand on the side of his face and leaned in. My lips met his softly and a second later I pulled away. I nodded and let go of him, both of my hands dropping to my side. He was about to say something when the worst thing that could happen happened…

I woke up.