I can still remember the first day I saw her; the girl at the bus stop; as if it was only yesterday rather than three years ago.
It was a warm day in August, and I had found myself curled up on the window seat in my bedroom reading a book. I always adored that window seat. It was my throne. It was a place where I could sit in peace and stare out at the ordinary people that passed, unaware of anything but their mundane lives. Now, as I think of it, that was probably why I noticed her in the first place. She was anything but ordinary.
Despite it being warm, she was dressed head to toe in black apart from an over sized white vest top. The black shirt she wore over that protected her ivory skin from the sun's rays, and I wondered if that was why she was wearing black tights with multi-coloured stars too so that her curvy legs would not burn. The highlight to her wardrobe was the army boots that she had selected to wear on her feet. In this part of town, girls only wore flip flops or those little ballerina pumps so I could not help but smile at this girl's quirky wardrobe.
Even with her get up; that still was not what caught my attention. She had long ginger hair that fell below her waist in long natural waves. Without sounding creepy, I wanted to run my hands through it and see if it felt anywhere near as soft as I was imagining it could. You would think due to living in Glasgow and it being stereotypical that us Scots have bright red hair, I would not be so enchanted by her hair but it is not as common as everyone would like to believe, and especially not the shade on her head. It was almost blonde but at the same time, it was not. It was an unusual mix of blonde and red but I would not even be close to calling it strawberry blonde. I could not help but wonder if it had faded with age. It is a well known fact that most redheads lose their red as they age and I wondered if this was what she was dealing with.
In her ears, she wore buds that were connected to her Blackberry and she was tapping her right foot along to the beat of whatever song was playing. I watched as she closed her eyes, her head starting to sway side to side and right there, unknowingly in front of me, she started to sing along to her music with such a passion you would have thought she was in an arena. I'm not going to lie and tell you that her voice was like angels in heaven, a chorus that would leave your arm covered in goose bumps nor would other people consider it as a memorable performance but I'll always remember it. Hell, I can even tell you now that she was singing "Sweet Serendipity" by Lee Dywze. It's not a well heard song but I could tell from the gusto behind her singing the words, she was a huge fan. Would she have sung so loudly if she had known she had an audience? Probably not, but that didn't bother me. I was grateful for having had this sneak preview into the girl at the bus stop's life.
Before the song ended, the bus came down the street and she stepped on without even looking up at my window. I felt a pang of something as it drove away, taking the girl with it, but I shook it off as feeling hungry and returned to the book that had sat neglected in my lap.
It would be a month before I would see her again.
September and the warm days had slowly started to disappear again; not that we really had them to begin with; but I liked the autumn nights. There was a crisp smell in the air that always found me sitting in my window seat, a book in my lap or my laptop sitting beside me. This night, I was working on something for a presentation that I had to share with my colleagues the next day when I saw her.
This time, she was stepping off the bus at the opposite side of the road and I could immediately tell that she had been somewhere important. She was wearing black again but this time it was a tight pencil dress with a belt that tucked her in at the waist. It was an outfit that she had matched with a short grey blazer, a pair of grey tights and a pair of black and white stilettos that looked like something out of a bad gangster movie.
Rummaging through her over sized canvas bag, she ran a hand over her face and that brought my attention up to her face. If I had thought her hair was stunning down, I could not even begin to describe how beautiful she was with it up in a chignon. She looked many years older, in a good way. However, what really grasped my attention was the column of her neck. It was ivory white, slender and I noted a distinguishing mark of a mole but I doubted that bothered her. Even without knowing her, I sensed this woman was confident and probably would not allow something superficial bother her. I could not help but believe that maybe she was one of a kind.
How strange was that?
It was not even a case of barely knowing the girl. I did not know her. Yet I found myself obsessed. This was only the second time of ever seeing her and yet from that moment my friends dubbed her "The Girl at the Bus Stop" because I apparently did nothing but bring her up in conversation. I mean, how was that even possible? The girl and I had never shared a conversation, I did not know her name nor did I know any of her hobbies and habits yet I felt like we shared a connection.
She was my girl at the bus stop.
The third time I saw her was December, and she was not alone.
This December evening she was standing with another girl, the pair of them wearing glitzy dresses for a night on the town. They looked nothing alike but from their conversation of her telling the other girl that their mother had refused to let her out in that dress for a reason, I guessed they were sisters. Her sister was a gorgeous girl. One of those girls who knew she was beautiful and had probably been told many times that she was beautiful. She had long straight hair in a dark chocolate brown, her skin was slightly tanned next to her sister's ivory but the two of them had one thing in common; mystifying grey eyes that left you captivated. Even though she was wearing a dress that just ended below her crotch and had legs that went on forever, I could not help but think that my girl at the bus stop was a lot more stunning.
The empress line dress – do not judge, but I eventually asked my sister what cut the dress was – was an emerald shade of green and it fell to just above her knees. The thick band just below her breasts pushed them up but it did not come across as trashy, she looked elegant and downright beautiful. Today was the first time I would see her as a real woman. I know. I have known she was female all along but tonight she had my heart beating and I have not even told you about the way her hair was teased into tight curls that fell along her back, even across her shoulder, and I have never felt more like running up to a stranger and burying my fingers in it, or my nose. What fragrance would she use? Vanilla? Strawberries? Lavender? Even without knowing, I imagine it was a beautiful smell that would waft whenever her hair bounced due to a small movement.
You are probably listening to this and thinking that I am a completely psycho that stalked a poor girl that never did anything more than just stand at a bus stop. And you are probably right. However, I just had not found the courage to speak to her yet.
Do you want to know something?
It was she that made the first move.
That very night when she was standing beside her sister at the bus stop, she finally looked up at my bedroom window and saw me staring down at them. I wonder if she thought I was staring at her sister. How many times had she felt inferior to the more obviously beautiful sister? How many times had a guy asked her sister to dance but never her? But if these questions went through her mind, she never showed it as she nudged her sister and her head tilted up to my window. Looking up at my window, I heard their warm laughter before they both started waving at me. A smile tugged at my lips as I saw her smile, the twinkle in my eye and without thinking, I waved back. This made their laughter louder but before anything else could happen, the bus turned the corner and pulled up at their stop. I saw them move to the back of the bus and as it drove away, I thought I caught a glimpse of her looking up at me.
This, however, could have been my imagination. Or most likely my subconscious giving me a glimmer of hope towards something I really wanted.
The time I decided to go down and talk to her, it was February.
I had not been stood at my window this time. I had been sat on my bed but I had heard singing coming through my open window and I had moved to the window as fast as I could. There she was.
This girl, I decided, could make any outfit look like it was meant for the catwalk. Today she was wearing a pair of over sized grey jog pants, a bright pink sport top that was the same size as a bra and she had a jacket hanging over a large sports bag that was resting on her right shoulder. It appeared she had joined a gym over the Christmas holidays and I wondered if she had stuck to the get fit plan. Deciding there was only one way to find out, I ran down the stairs as fast as I could and went through the front door.
And do you want to know what she said to me as I approached?
"I wondered when you were going to finally come down and say hi to me," with a warm smile on her unmade face that made my heart beat faster than I could ever imagine.
I blushed at her comment, a smile tugging at my own lips as I nodded my head and admitted my short coming of having not spoken to her sooner. Without a second doubt, I asked her one important question. "Would you like to go out with me some time?"
And do you know what she said?
Well of course, she said yes. Or this would have been a silly little anecdote.
That was three years ago and I still find myself mesmerised by my girl at the bus stop. Even today, she is still the only woman I know that can cause my heart to stop with a simple smile. Yes, she still sings out of tune and now that she knows I do not care, she does it a lot but I love her even more for it. Like I predicted, my girl at the bus stop does not care what people think about her. She's confident, sassy and all kinds of wonderful.
After our relationship progressed and she knew of all my thoughts when I had watched her from the window, she would tease that I would eventually get bored of her because she would never cause that reaction in me again.
Well, she was most definitely wrong.
Today, just like that first day three years ago, was a day where I witnessed something so beautiful I wondered if I was even awake. It was completely the opposite of ordinary.
My girl at the bus stop was lying in a bed, her hair tied back in a French plait that fell across her left shoulder to prevent it from getting in the way. Her skin was damp with sweat, her cheeks flustered from exertion and a silly smile teases her unmade lips as she stares down at the small bundle against her chest. Despite her feeling extremely tired, covered in sweat and being in a completely grouchy mood, I still believed that she was completely stunning but today she was sharing the limelight.
Today she was sharing the limelight with you, my precious little girl.
Once, I said that my girl at the bus stop was one of a kind but that was wrong. Yes, she is the only girl I will ever have eyes for but I now have two beautiful girls in my life.
You are going to look exactly like your mother. Hell, by the time you are hearing this, you probably do look like your mother and I can just imagine the hell you are stirring up out there. Even now, you have a mop of hair that is a beautiful red colour that leaves your mother feeling insanely jealous. Whenever you wake, you flash baby blue eyes that I know will make me want to give you the world and if you do as the doctors state and they change in ten days to the same grey as your mother's then I am doubly screwed. The doctor states that I should learn how to shoot a gun because you are going to be breaking hearts when you grow up.
I look across at your mother, the serene smile on her face as she looks down at you sleeping on her chest, and I smile my signature grin that always adorns my face when I look at her. I remember how she left me feeling, a nameless girl standing at the bus stop singing her heart out to a song in an outfit that did not match the weather and I chuckle as I agree. "She most definitely will."
AUTHORS NOTE: I'm not a one shot writer usually, I'm addicted to writing long ass chapter stories but this idea hit me so I thought let's give it a go. It's also in first person, a layout that I can't STAND but it wouldn't work any other way.
Much love to my beloved friend, Ciara, for having read through this for me. All mistakes are mine, and if you see any please point them out so I can fix them. Constructive criticism is key!