Changing Stops
Changing Stops
He walked onto the bus and sat down beside me; a simple, innocent motion that caused my heart rate to increase. I glanced over at him, trying to be discreet but well aware that he had noticed my eyes on him. His eyes didn’t move, intent on picking the proper song for the ride to wherever his destination was. He seemed lost in another world, a peaceful world, and I wanted to be there with him. I watched his head move from the screen of his iPod to the window on the opposite side of the bus, never once stopping on the face of a passenger. I envied his sense of control.
I noticed a pack of giggling females taking turns glancing back at him. I never could quite understand why girls always thought they were discreet creatures. A female’s eyes are more obvious than a red object sitting in a room of white. There’s never discretion with lust or superficial staring; I’d learned that about myself a long time ago. I wanted to tell them to stop giggling; it was just annoying everyone within hearing distance. I felt a sudden sense of awkwardness as I realized I was behaving like a hungry lion pouncing on the unknowing, innocent gazelle. I couldn’t quite determine who the gazelle was though — the other girls or this stranger.
Despite the loudness of the girls’ immaturity, I couldn’t help but realize he never once looked around the bus. His mind was on the past or the future but certainly not the present. I could hear the slight tapping of his finger against his knee, but I didn’t know if he was keeping rhythm with the music or just acting on an anxious tick. I guess it would have to be a tick. The soft sound of his music was too quickly paced to match the slow, repetitive tapping.
I remembered tapping like that against the table as my mom perfected my make-up, my anxious tick coming into full play. “Am I making the right choice?” I’d remembered feeling so nervous, knowing deep down inside this wasn’t the altar I was supposed to be standing at.
“Of course you are, sweetheart.” My mom’s voice was reassuring, her gentle smile never looking more confident of the words she spoke. “He can give you the life I always wanted you to have.” She had married for love, a mistake in her opinion, one she reminded me of far too regularly. “You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted.” She had been tricked by him as well, though, sweet-talked and fooled into trusting the wrong man. I’d thought it was just nerves and believed it was commonplace, that all brides felt this way. I had shrugged it off as normality and followed the soft-paced music past pews of staring people. My gut was smarter than my brain that day, a regret I could never shake.
The bus hit a pothole, jolting me forward and back to the present day. The stranger’s eyes were still glued to the window, the bounce barely affecting his concentration. I joined his eyes as he watched the passing scenery, unsure of what was so mesmerizing about the procession of trees and cookie cutter buildings. It was bland and cloudy, a day matching my emotional innards. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d felt an entire day of sunshine on me or in me. I heard those damn girls giggling again, and it snapped me back to reality once more. I was content in the fact that he was sitting next to me: I wanted to just look at those girls as if to announce my victory. I knew better, though. I was too aged to behave that way anymore.
On a superficial level, there’s nothing provocative about a bus. It tends to carry the odor of an unwashed person and has an unlimited supply of trash scattered about. No, I came to realize there’s nothing sexy about the bus itself. But there is something to be said about the idea of sitting so near a person I’ll never see again, elbows brushing ever so lightly with every jerky turn, the light smell of his cologne drifting toward me. Every time he fidgeted or jerked with the bus’ hasty movements, he came closer to me. I knew it wasn’t intentional, but a part of me wondered if he let himself move with the bus as an excuse to get closer.
I suppose my life plan had never included becoming the woman who felt a stronger attraction to a stranger on the bus than the man she shared a home with. Well, shared a house with. The word home had become a stretch the past few years, and I felt like a silent abyss might be a more accurate description. We had exchanged rings, his vows for eternal love nothing more than a fleeting passion. I should have seen through him, but I was eighteen, and he was the first boy to give me roses. He had a credit card, not a comic book collection. He was my mother’s dream for me, a decision I’d believed she was right in.
The bus suddenly halted to a stop, and I watched him stand up, felt a slight pang in my heart. I knew his exit from this bus would be his exit from my life, and when he walked out those doors, my eyes would probably never lie to rest on him again. The scent of his cologne drifted away with him, and I was alone in this seat again, the rain starting to pound on the window. I wanted to laugh at the idea that I felt more connected with this stranger than I had to anyone in a long time. We were two strangers sitting next to one another, a single word not spoken. Yet I saw all the emotion buried within him, his eyes a giveaway, and I knew, I really knew, that if I ever opened up to him, he would understand.
I remembered the day I told him I was going to leave, declared my independence at the top of my lungs. I belted out a chorus of profanities and a swift “I’m not yours anymore, asshole!” while viciously throwing my clothes into a suitcase.
He stood there laughing at me, his body arched in the frame of the door, arms crossed. “You’re not going to go,” he had told me. I laughed back at him, my sanity suddenly rushing from my body. My body was shaking uncontrollably as I felt my freedom moving closer and closer. “I’m not giving you a fucking dime, and God knows you have nowhere to go.” My shaking increased as I saw that freedom running away scared. “You’ve got nothing. Admit it. Unpack the damn suitcase and make some dinner already. It’s past six.” He stared at me for a few seconds, and he knew he was right. Uncrossing his arms, he laughed at me one last time and moved slowly toward the stairwell. “Dumb bitch,” he muttered as his laughter echoed softly through the hallway. I collapsed into a ball on the floor, sobbing away all the dreams I had once believed would come true. He had promised me everything and given me nothing.
The loud sounds of shoes slapping against the floor began as people begrudgingly made their way to the exit. I watched his back as he walked away, his body moving mechanically toward the door as if routine. I looked out the window as the bus slowly rumbled onward. I noticed him still standing there, perhaps debating if he wanted to wait out the rain in the bus stop. I imagined getting off the bus, confidently walking toward him and becoming a part of his life, even if just for those few moments. I considered all the words I’d speak to him, the small talk about the constant rain or the miserable public transportation. We could laugh off the giggling girls, and he could tell me that he prefers girls who act in a more mature manner. He and I would become something, that sensual smell of his cologne bringing us closer together.
He looked up at me, a quick glance with a small smile, and those two seconds of eye contact were more comforting than any word spoken to me in days. I stared back, then let my head drop. Despite wanting to, I couldn’t bring myself to smile back, as if I was protecting him from entering my disastrous life. I knew his life would be easier if he stayed on that rain-covered sidewalk rather than sitting in the seat next to me. When I looked back out the window again, he was in the past, and the bus was moving forward full speed. I couldn’t help but wonder if getting off the bus and going home was as disappointing for him as it has been for me. I wondered if he knew how much a small encounter with a stranger could change a life.
“I know it’s not glamorous, sweetheart, but neither is your current situation.” She had looked worried and loving, this woman I barely knew intent on calming my scared face. She sat behind us at church, a Christian just like he had liked to play. It was one of the many nice guy charades he had liked to perform for everyone. For those two hours every Sunday, he loved me, and he would do anything to show the world. It was a crowd of the deceived, all idolizing his perfection. She had seen us that night though; I’d never been more embarrassed. He had grabbed me outside the restaurant, started hurling drunken profanities and insults. I couldn’t even tell you what I’d done wrong. I saw her out of the corner of my eye staring attentively before she disappeared into her car, not a word spoken.
He never noticed her, his focus on his rage not his surroundings. I was worried I’d wake up Sunday morning stuck in a hurricane of whispers about my private life, all eyes focused on me gleaming with pity as I walked through the doors. Nothing had changed though. Men shook his hand firmly, intent on being noticed, while women swooned to me about how lucky I was. She knew I wasn’t so lucky though. “You need to make the change for yourself. Pick yourself up and put him back in his place.” Her wrinkled face suddenly looked angry, but it wasn’t rage directed toward me. “Get out before he gets to you.” I nodded at her and took the pamphlet, my mind still stunned by her sudden change in emotions. Her hand gently rested briefly on my shoulder, and I noticed the scars jetting up her forearm before she turned away, her informed body lost in the sea of the ignorant. Maybe I had been ignorant to all that she knew.
A baby began whimpering behind me, its mom’s soothing voice making every attempt to calm it. The restless stirring interrupted my restless thoughts, and I brought my eyes back to the passing scenery, a tear threatening to escape. I halted it, remembered I had promised myself after all those dreadful days I’d never shed another tear over him again. I looked through the fogged up window and made out the blurry sign for the shelter. I took a deep breath in, fidgeting with my coat sleeve, and headed toward the exit: my new bus stop.