It all started at the bus stop.

Everything started at the bus stop, of course. The usual excitement and relief of heading home, knowing that your day was coming to an end and you could look forward to a hot meal and resting your bones, weary after a long day of wrangling morons.

But one day a week, it would be a different. Being at the bus stop would provoke a different reaction within me.

My heart would begin to beat hard, but steadily. My mouth would be dry. I kept a collection of Tic Tacs, just in case. My palms would be sweaty. I would hold my MP3 player tightly, too tightly, in my hand as I waited for the bus.

The one I normally caught stopped, but I did not get on it. If I had done this on a normal day, I would have to wait twenty minutes for another. Thankfully the one I needed would come every few minutes, which was good as it was much more crowded.

The sun would shine right in my eyes as it neared the end of its descent, or in the later days it would be twilight, the sky streaked with bright orange and pink on a magenta or violet background. Sometimes the stars would be out. Sometimes a brief cold wind would breeze by, and I would be even more impatient for the bus to come.

Finally, I would see one in the distance. I would stand and raise my hand. Sometimes my untrustworthy eyesight couldn’t tell which bus it was until it had almost come, but I couldn’t risk missing it. Usually I would be right. I would climb aboard, smile at the driver, dip my ticket and try to find a seat.

The journey was longer due to the extra stops this other route had. Every time the blue lamp was lit, every time the alarm buzzed, every person fumbling for change, every person trying to get off through the crowd, every crowded bus stop full of commuters like me, every second extra seemed an eternity. I had to get there. I had to get to the end. And I had to get there now. I couldn’t afford to be late. I despaired if there was heavy traffic on the approach to the bridge. This happened once a week, usually on the days where I needed to be somewhere. There was no telling when we would be able to get through. My music, loud as it was, could not distract me from my thoughts, my urgency, my need to reach the end. Sometimes a song would remind me of my goal and my nerves and my anticipation would grow.

Once we were on the bridge, it was plain sailing. As soon as I saw the southern shore and the skyline there, my heart beat a little faster. I was so close now. Not long now.

Normally I would turn left, towards home. But we did not turn, we would continue straight on, into the heart of the city and also into the heart of peak hour. I would debate getting off a stop early and walking, but the extra distance would cancel out the time it would take to get through the traffic. Sometimes there wasn’t much anyway and we had a clear run. Slowly the bus would empty until there were just the few, all waiting for the final destination, where everyone needed to be. But no need was as great as mine. After much fighting through the narrow roads, we would finally pull up in a spare space by the side of the road. I would turn my music off and put my player away, and then rush to disembark, stepping straight onto the path without hesitation. The sound of my rapid footsteps matched the beating of my heart, speeding up ever so slightly. Once I was back again on solid ground, my path was clear. I would walk past stores and their crappy PA systems, meandering office workers whom I would dearly have loved to shove out of my way. I crossed the construction site, and revelled in the echo of the plywood ramp as I thundered along it. Then I would reach the final hurdle.

The busy road that lay between me and the building was treacherous to cross, and the traffic lights much too infrequent. Sometimes I would wait for them, but most of the time I couldn’t. Thankfully my fellow city dwellers were just as impatient as me, and soon a gaggle of jaywalkers would cross as soon as they found a gap. I followed along eagerly, careful to walk in the middle. If someone had made a mistake in timing, the stragglers would suffer first.

I was safely across. All that lay between us now was a few metres of busy arcade. I entered the grand building, built a century before my birth, picking up a free newspaper and dodging smokers and other commuters on my way. All I needed to do was make it across. I would soon learn to duck and weave through the crowd with a mastery that would impress a football selector. There were thousands of people there, and none of them were as much in a hurry as I was. So close, so close now. I would check my reflection in shop windows as I passed. I undid the band that had been holding my slightly damp hair up all day so it would fall to my shoulders, now with gentle waves. I passed the point where the shops ended, and glimpsed the pillars that marked the other entrance. I could see daylight on the other side. My heart was almost beating out of my chest. Only a few more steps, and I was there.

I walked past the pillars and looked towards the statue plinth that had people crowding around, walking past. But I was only interested in who was sitting there. As soon as I saw him, I smiled. He would be sat in the same spot, week after week, waiting for me. Sometimes he would be reading, or drawing, or sometimes just sitting there. He would look up and catch my eye, then break into that wide grin of his. He would climb down, waiting for me to reach him. In an instant as soon as I was close enough, our bodies would come together, our arms would wrap around each other, and our lips would meet in a long kiss. In one moment, I would analyse and recognise everything – the feel of his tongue, the texture of his coat, his hair as it brushed against my face, his indefinable but familiar smell, how tightly he was holding me. Finally my anticipation was met, my excitement sated, the nervousness over. The adrenaline faded, my heart resumed its normal rhythm, all was right with the world again. I was there. I was home. We would finally let go, say hello, walk, get food, hold each other and do it all over again in the park until it was late, cold and dark and we had to part for another week.

I would give anything to feel that again.