Bus Ride

I picked off the lollipop stuck to the side of my skirt and hunkered down for the rest of the bus journey, my face covered in scowl-grimace-fuck-you-don’t-even-think-about-speaking-to-me glower.

It's something I'd perfected with musty aunts back at the time when Christmas meant something magical.

I was off on a journey of discovery; I didn't have a clue where I was headed, that's what I'm saying here. My mask was working: I had the whole back seat on which to lounge. Not even the wisps of smoke from my cigarette attracted more than a few curses, black looks, whispered insults from the blue-rinse brigade.

I watched landscapes trundle by the window, the shade just pulled down sufficiently to keep the sun out of my eyes. Like the smoke from my cigarette I began to drift off.

Bumps in the road jolt me awake, consciousness bright as winter sunlight. I look around. No one else is on the bus.

Where did they go? How long have I been sleeping? Where am I?

I start to get up, but a violent and wild swing of the wheel brings me down hard in the aisle. A simple, single phrase passes through my head: what the fuck.

I crawl to a seat, sit down again and try to discern where I am in the city. I recognise nothing: anywhere. Nowhere. Not one landmark kick-starts my memory.

I shout out, but no reply. Quiet at the front. I see eyes in the rear view, hands on the steering wheel, but they are just abstract images of a whole person. I hear no voice. Just the rumble of the engine, the throaty roar as driver and accelerator combine. I start to get scared.

Stomach knots, brow knits. Hands sweat, shake, rattle as we roll. I pull a battered personal stereo out of my pocket; headphones connect my ears to sounds. I turn it up loud, so I can’t hear my immediate environment. I close my eyes. I smell cigarette smoke again but I don’t have one on the go.

With sudden movement we stop, still. Footsteps clunk up the central aisle. I try not to flinch, but know I do. Still I keep my eyes shut.

"Sonny, I have to tell you that you’re not allowed to smoke on this bus. Please extinguish your cigarette or you’ll have to leave the vehicle."

Footsteps again. Moving away.

I open my eyes. There are many pairs of eyes staring back at me. My cigarette has burned away to the stub, making my fingers turn a darkened yellow. I turn red. I must have been asleep, dreaming.

Now, I wish I was.