The Bus
Posted: Wed Jul 07, 2004 11:31 pm
And the wind howled outside, calling to her as though mourning her pensiveness. She opened her eyes and peered through the droplets of water dancing in rivulets down the windowpane. The glass was cold and hard under the weight of her resting forehead, and she welcomed it. Though her thoughts were as empty as the past, she felt heavy, and the chill acted as a warden forcing her feelings to move sluggishly, half-heartedly. She breathed deeply as if resigned, and warm air escaped the confines of her lips to coat the glass in a blanket of fog. She lifted a hand to the canvas and painted an awkward smiling face, crooked and charming in its simplicity. Smiling wistfully, she added a nose and a few freckles. Slowly, the warmth left behind from her finger succumbed to cold. Her own smile dissipated with that of the window, and her eyes focused to the landscape outside. The day was gray and lonely and everything appeared to droop with sorrow. The only sound was that of the rain and the ever-blowing wind. The whole world was crying, and she was as empty and spent as her thoughts.
A subtle movement caught her attention, and she glanced to the seat across the aisle opposite her own. A man, likely of an age with her, had shifted in his sleep. He looked too tall to be pretzeled as he was, but he seemed strangely at ease, as though scoffing at the familiar foe of being uncomfortable. His head was pillowed by a brown suede jacket, a traveler's backpack at rest in his lap. The seat to his right held another, slightly larger pack, over which an arm casually draped. His other arm was thrown over the seat behind his head. His white shirt was pristine, though unbuttoned and disheveled in a way that boasted time and wear. Beneath it, a yellow tee shirt sporting a brightly colored logo with foreign words was carelessly shoved into jeans fastened by a brown leather belt. His long legs were splayed, one propped on the back of the seat before him, and the other sprawled into the aisle. His tattered leather boots were on the floor, and the sock on his right foot had a small hole in the big toe. Suddenly, her lip trembled, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. He seemed peaceful and uncomplicated, as though he couldn't be bothered. Even the frown lines in his sleep were stubborn and rebellious, as if challenging the sand man to bring him disturbing dreams.
He shifted again, and sighed. She held her breath as he settled into slumber once more, and let it lose slowly as his breathing became steady. For a moment, he had seemed almost irate, as if aware of her scrutiny, and impatient for her to understand. She cocked her head as she fingered the threads on the seat next to her. They were orange and gray, and she could see the foam of the seat underneath peaking through. She felt the tattered edges of her soul, and compared it to the threadbare seat cover; a thin, over worn film covering a tired, soft core. She looked again to the man and pursed her lips tightly.
Abruptly, she rose, leaving her own pack were it sat. Making her way as gracefully as she could across the aisle as the bus tossed and bumped, she sat gingerly next to his pack. Minutes buzzed by as she wreathed her fingers together and tried not to fidget. She chewed her lip and looked at his hand, cradling the pack indifferently, as if the contents were of no importance. Her eyes darted to his face, still serene and darkly beautiful, the frown lines bunched into soft puzzlement, as if asking her a question. She imagined his eyes to be deep and arctic blue, able to capture and freeze when inclined; yet imploring with a heat she could fall into. She pulled a strand of hair to her lips and sucked on the tips for a moment before letting it fall back into place, and slowly, she closed her eyes. By impulse, she raised her hands and clasped his within her own. He was warm and inviting, soothing and intriguing. She smiled, and brought his hand to her face to hold his fingers to her cheek. His scent was subtle and hot, pricking the edges of her mind with a fierce longing and gentle submission. She opened her eyes and quickly shoved his pack across the aisle so that it fell to rest on the seat next to her own. Pulling her shoes from her feet, she threw them onto the floor so her laces could mingle with his. She poured herself into his empty embrace, breathing in his scent as exquisite sleep buzzed at the corners of her mind. Just before succumbing, she lifted her chin and saw his features even from the perplexing expression of a man rudely awakened to that of a man mentally shrugging. As he closed his jaw and smoothed his furrowed brows, the hand that had held his pack lifted, as if shy, and finally came to rest across her shoulder. He seemed dazed, and his eyes clouded as evidence of internal speech, but his fingers did their own bidding and finally found and lightly caressed her hair. He blinked at his rebellious hand, and saw her watching his face. She was still unsure, but her eyes, a brilliant shade of cerulean blue, haunted and alone, were brimming with hope. Distantly he imagined how well they complimented his own cobalt colored irises, which were hard and cold. She blinked at him, and not knowing what else to do, he raised his eyebrow at her as if to ask, "and?" She slowly smiled. The remaining doubts in his mind were crushed and he answered her with a crooked grin before surprising himself by pressing his lips to her forehead. As she snuggled against him, he moved himself to be more open to her and after she had settled, he looked out the window. It was still dark and lonely, and the rain still fell, but it felt different somehow. He looked down at the woman, fast asleep. He resisted the urge to snort, and instead, carefully pulled the suede jacket from behind his head and covered her with it. If she had needed something and found it within him, who was he to deny her? Feeling the steady rhythm of her chest rise and fall as she breathed in and out, he couldn't deny that maybe he needed something from her as well.
Outside, the wind howled and the rain danced in rivulets down the windowpane. But this time instead of shutting it out and pretending that nothing was there, he breathed deeply, contentedly, and wondered where the next stop would take them.
A subtle movement caught her attention, and she glanced to the seat across the aisle opposite her own. A man, likely of an age with her, had shifted in his sleep. He looked too tall to be pretzeled as he was, but he seemed strangely at ease, as though scoffing at the familiar foe of being uncomfortable. His head was pillowed by a brown suede jacket, a traveler's backpack at rest in his lap. The seat to his right held another, slightly larger pack, over which an arm casually draped. His other arm was thrown over the seat behind his head. His white shirt was pristine, though unbuttoned and disheveled in a way that boasted time and wear. Beneath it, a yellow tee shirt sporting a brightly colored logo with foreign words was carelessly shoved into jeans fastened by a brown leather belt. His long legs were splayed, one propped on the back of the seat before him, and the other sprawled into the aisle. His tattered leather boots were on the floor, and the sock on his right foot had a small hole in the big toe. Suddenly, her lip trembled, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. He seemed peaceful and uncomplicated, as though he couldn't be bothered. Even the frown lines in his sleep were stubborn and rebellious, as if challenging the sand man to bring him disturbing dreams.
He shifted again, and sighed. She held her breath as he settled into slumber once more, and let it lose slowly as his breathing became steady. For a moment, he had seemed almost irate, as if aware of her scrutiny, and impatient for her to understand. She cocked her head as she fingered the threads on the seat next to her. They were orange and gray, and she could see the foam of the seat underneath peaking through. She felt the tattered edges of her soul, and compared it to the threadbare seat cover; a thin, over worn film covering a tired, soft core. She looked again to the man and pursed her lips tightly.
Abruptly, she rose, leaving her own pack were it sat. Making her way as gracefully as she could across the aisle as the bus tossed and bumped, she sat gingerly next to his pack. Minutes buzzed by as she wreathed her fingers together and tried not to fidget. She chewed her lip and looked at his hand, cradling the pack indifferently, as if the contents were of no importance. Her eyes darted to his face, still serene and darkly beautiful, the frown lines bunched into soft puzzlement, as if asking her a question. She imagined his eyes to be deep and arctic blue, able to capture and freeze when inclined; yet imploring with a heat she could fall into. She pulled a strand of hair to her lips and sucked on the tips for a moment before letting it fall back into place, and slowly, she closed her eyes. By impulse, she raised her hands and clasped his within her own. He was warm and inviting, soothing and intriguing. She smiled, and brought his hand to her face to hold his fingers to her cheek. His scent was subtle and hot, pricking the edges of her mind with a fierce longing and gentle submission. She opened her eyes and quickly shoved his pack across the aisle so that it fell to rest on the seat next to her own. Pulling her shoes from her feet, she threw them onto the floor so her laces could mingle with his. She poured herself into his empty embrace, breathing in his scent as exquisite sleep buzzed at the corners of her mind. Just before succumbing, she lifted her chin and saw his features even from the perplexing expression of a man rudely awakened to that of a man mentally shrugging. As he closed his jaw and smoothed his furrowed brows, the hand that had held his pack lifted, as if shy, and finally came to rest across her shoulder. He seemed dazed, and his eyes clouded as evidence of internal speech, but his fingers did their own bidding and finally found and lightly caressed her hair. He blinked at his rebellious hand, and saw her watching his face. She was still unsure, but her eyes, a brilliant shade of cerulean blue, haunted and alone, were brimming with hope. Distantly he imagined how well they complimented his own cobalt colored irises, which were hard and cold. She blinked at him, and not knowing what else to do, he raised his eyebrow at her as if to ask, "and?" She slowly smiled. The remaining doubts in his mind were crushed and he answered her with a crooked grin before surprising himself by pressing his lips to her forehead. As she snuggled against him, he moved himself to be more open to her and after she had settled, he looked out the window. It was still dark and lonely, and the rain still fell, but it felt different somehow. He looked down at the woman, fast asleep. He resisted the urge to snort, and instead, carefully pulled the suede jacket from behind his head and covered her with it. If she had needed something and found it within him, who was he to deny her? Feeling the steady rhythm of her chest rise and fall as she breathed in and out, he couldn't deny that maybe he needed something from her as well.
Outside, the wind howled and the rain danced in rivulets down the windowpane. But this time instead of shutting it out and pretending that nothing was there, he breathed deeply, contentedly, and wondered where the next stop would take them.
