So I’m sitting at the bus stop eating a baloney sandwich earlier today, thinking that it’s been way way too long since I wrote anything. The problem is that I really don’t feel much like blogging lately, so much so that I’ve even considered the dreaded “This Blog is Over” post (don’t freak, I’m not doing that). Blogging aside, I do feel like writing, but the problem there is that when you’ve not done it in a while it’s hard to get going again (have I not written this same dang post a million times?). It’s hard to write without something that makes you want to, some sort of inspiration, muse, etc. But I’m sitting at the bus stop, eating my sandwich sans-inspiration.
The top of the bus crests the small hill, and an image flashes in my head, it’s the blue ‘No eating or drinking’ sign that resides on the walls of every bus. I glance at the last bite of my sandwich, and instinctively shove it back into the ziploc, shove that into my backpack, and rise to meet the 72. I get on, flash my pass, and head to the back. I check the seat before I sit (because, as some of you may know, I sat in urine last week on the bus, yes, urine) it’s dry so I sit. I survey my fellow passengers while blindly digging for that ziploc with one bite of bologna in it. I’m at the back left, punk-dressed-metal-radio-listening-kid with short (undeyed) black hair is to my right. By the rear door sits another headphoned teenager: weightlifter, green shirt, khaki shorts, definitely thinks he’s cool. Farther up is the girl in all black with an ample bosom and a low-cut somethingorother to show it off. Her blonde hair contrasts with the clothing and with the six inches of dark roots that it’s clinging to (definitely something that should have been taken care of 6 mos. or more ago) For some reason I think that she’s not attractive. And finally, riding what I call shotgun (that one seat up at the front where people who talk to the driver sit) is the large lady in purple; I could make a grape joke but I won’t, it would be mean. I extract the final bite, mash it into my mouth, and rationalize it with the thought that it’s only one bite and that it’s a dumb rule anyway.
The bus driver has us in the right lane. We should be in the left one. He should be turning left RIGHT HERE! My mouth is full. I look to my right, Metalhead pulls one ear free of his radio. I swallow, rough crust scraping my throat…
“What bus is this?” I croak, slightly horrified.
“Seventy Two.” He states matter-of-factly, but with enough anxiety to tell me that he too knows we missed the turn. We look forward, the girl in black lets out a rather loud “Ummmm.” And finally it’s Weightlifter who speaks up…
“I think you were supposed to turn back there.”
“Yeah” says the driver non-chalantly “Lucky there’s only two stopsand no-one’s usually at -’em.” We all look at eachother and laugh nervously. He takes the next left and we’re back on course.
Now I have something to write about. I pull out my pen and pad as Metalhead becomes Motormouth and I find myself in an unwanted conversation. – Don’t Talk To Me Right Now, I’m Trying To Write Here, Sheesh – I wish that I had his headphones even if I had to listen to whatever awful radio-metal they contain, anything but this inane blah-blah-blah. Grapelady and Fauxblonde leave the bus, I notice the landscape. I look at Griffs, a burger sounds good, I would like a burger. I’m writing in my notebook, It’s dreadfully sloppy, but that’s ok because I know this is getting typed up as soon as I get home tonight. And though it’s a task I dread, I’m getting pretty excited. It feels good to write.
I write and I think, and I think and, well, think. I get off at the Olde Town Park N Ride. There’s about 10 mins until my 76 South leaves. I put my pen in my mouth, squat and set my notebook on the ground, and dig again in my backpack. I pull out my can of Mt. Dew (It’s diet, been giving it a try, I need the caffeine not the calories.), crack it open and bring it to my mouth. I stop. I take the pen out and drop it on the notebook, I chug the Dew. I sit down at a bench and resume writing, glad to have finally washed my sandwich down. I look around at the people, hoping to find a character, something to run with, the juicer is ready, it just needs some more fruit for the smoothie.
Across the busway I see a girl, she looks familiar, she reminds me of a friend of mine that reminds me of Katie Holmes. She’s sitting with her messenger bag on her lap, and she’s people watching. Now I try not to look at girls, A.) because I try not to look at girls, and B.) because I usually get caught, but I can’t help myself. I stare a little bit, trying to remember where I know her from. She does a little hair thing and I have Insta-Crush. I look away, continue writing, look back and get caught. DAMNIT! I go back to writing. I hear a bus move, I look up. It’s the 76 North, and she’s walking toward it. She slows at the front to wait for the line. She looks at me, I can’t look away, she smiles and gets on the bus. I look at my notebook. That was a really big smile. I look at the bum sitting next to me, he’s drunk but not gone. He looks at me, then at the 76, then back at me…
“Man, she like yoou!”
“I dunno man, I think she just caught me looking.”
That was a really big smile.
Maybe she does like me.
Who am I kidding, she’s the girl getting on another bus, I’ll never see her again.
I go to work and my brain is a steaming pile of wet noodles, I am smitten, I will never see her again.
I get off work at nine and go to drop my movies off at Blockbuster before I catch the bus, Greys Anatomy: Season One, Disc One and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. I wrote while I was on break at work, and I read some Hemmingway. I somewhat forgot about Smileygirl. But as I slide Greys Anatomy into the drop box, I see Meredith Grey’s face, I think of her smile, of Ellen Pompeo’s (she plays Meredith) smile. That’s the smile I got earlier today, that huge, man-melting grin. I get on the bus, take out my book and Ernestly try to forget it, to forget her. One bus, I get off, smoke a cigarrette. Next bus, someone gets off and instead of thanking the driver as is common, he swears a racial slur at him. I get off at Olde Town Park N Ride. I have half an hour here. I look towards the bench that she was on, turn my back, and head towards the shopping area. I want a snack, and this is the perfect opportunity. I can choose from the liquid to the solid, hot to cold, sweet to spicy, there’s a ‘Bucks, a Coldstone, and a Chipotle (Chi-pote-lay, not Chi-pote-ul, pet peeve here folks). I decide that cold-semisolid-sweet is what I need, and reach for the door handle at Coldstone. I miss, look down and see that I missed because the handle is missing. Gone. Weird. The door is propped open with a doorstop, so I grab the frame and go in. I used to know people that worked here, my lil’ sis’ did for a while and I used to be able to score free stuff sometimes. I don’t recognize anyone, order a Gotta-Have-It Sweetcream with Raspberries and Chocolate shavings. It’s dark and chilly outside but this sounds soo good. I pay and grab my to-go cup, the spoon clatters to the floor. Without hesitation the young lady that I just payed says…
“New spoon?” I laugh…
“Yeah, thanks.” she hands it to me and I thank her again. I walk outside. I stare at the bus benches. I stare at the chairs at Chipotle. I stare at the chairs right in front of me. I look right toward Starbucks and it’s chairs, there are people there. Somewhat closer are the chairs at the closed-for-the-evening Jamba Juice. I head toward them, set my ice-cream down and look back toward the Starbucks chairs. I see a facial shape that looks familiar. A head nods and a hand waves. I pick up my ice-cream and head towards them…
“Hello friend.” I am somwhat surprised. Two friends. How random.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” He says as I pull up a chair.
“Just waiting for my bus, and getting a snack, do you mind if I eat it in front of you?”
“Yes, you should eat it inside so that I don’t get cold watching you.” She says, her head buried in a hoodie.
“Inside where it will melt? I don’t think so.” We laugh. We chat. I ask for a ride and they politely decline, serious conversation I guess. I take my melting goodness and wander back towards the buses.
The 52 arrives, I get in line, get on the bus, flash my pass. There are many people on the bus, and the only vacant seats are the ones that fold up to make room for wheelchairs and the like. They are folded up so I lift the lever and lower one. The lady next to me pauses and watches me, then does likewise with the opposite bench. I sit down and twist myself around in an effort to remove my backpack.
HOLYCRAP!
IT’S HER!
SHE’S SITTING RIGHT BEHIND ME!
I yank my bag off and face forward. My heart is not in my throat, it’s in my brain, slamming concussive waves of blood through every vessel, crashing into neurons. And I cannot think. My brain is a steaming pile of wet noodles, I am a steaming pile of wet noodles. I reach for my bag, pull out my book, no my notebook, no my book, both of them. I hold them in my hands. Press them against my lap. My hands are shaking. I cannot think. I stare rigidly forward as streets and stoplights go by. There is a commotion at the back of the bus. Someone wrestling with a suitcase and several grocery bags. One crashes to the floor and everyone turns to look. I feel for the old man. Someone sitting closer to him helps collect the spilling cans of food. Someone pulls the stop-cord and the driver slows at the next bench. We’re still watching the old man and his cans. The bus stops. She gets up, looks at me, speaks…
“You write?” I am vapor, I have no substance, I dissolve into a cloud of 98% water. And yet I manage to sublimate and speak.
“Uhhh, Yeah.” She smiles and I am vapor again.
“That’s cool.” and She gets off the bus. My stop is getting close, my vapor condenses. I pull the stop-cord, stand and move toward the door. The forty-something man in the business suit that is sitting behind Hers speaks to me…
“That was a really big smile.” My knees are weak.
“Yeah, it was, have a good night.” I get off the bus, walk home, I am tired and sore and it’s been a long week, but I have no worries and no cares, and no thoughts but of Her. I am smitten, I have seen her again. And now I REALLY don’t know what to do…
