Waiting

The air was cold, and the sky was gray. The asphalt was dark under my feet as I shuffled around, trying in a vain effort to keep myself warm. A few strangers stood nearby, drawing their jackets against themselves to guard against the cruel wind.

Birds fluttered from the nearby lamppost, soaring into the sky on wingbeats as short as heartbeats. The steel and glass of the bus stop felt hard against my back, and the coldness of the glass pierced the fabric of my thin jacket, like invasive fingers reaching out to my skin. I slouched, allowing myself to take on the same shade of gray that seemed to permeate everything.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I took a deep breath and let it out in a ragged sigh. The air smelled like grease and cigarette smoke, courtesy of the strangers also waiting for the bus. My thoughts ran through my head - not like lightning, but like dark thunderclouds: roiling, slow, ponderous. My flaws and my problems, the feeling of loneliness in a time of need.

The sharp crunch of rocks under feet interrupted my thoughts. A soft scrape from nearby forced open my eyes.

I had my head bowed, so the first thing I saw were her hands. Slender fingers, wrapped in a small fist to keep them warm. Light skin, no blemishes, finely clipped nails with a tint of gloss. She had beautiful hands.

I looked up, first turning away from her to look out the glass walls of the small bus shelter. The sky was gray on that side, still dark and heavy, leading back to despair. As I turned my head, she shuffled her feet, just an inch, breaking the silence that seemed to envelope us. Pretending to look over at the other wall, I let my gaze fall on her.

She had sunglasses on, which obscured her eyes, and her long black hair fell over her face like a curtain. A girl, about my age, maybe a year younger. She was staring straight ahead, out towards the dusty road. Out of my peripheral vision I noticed an empty seat on her other side, and it puzzled me. There was plenty of room on the bench. Why sit next to me?

I quickly looked away as she shifted in her seat. The slow creak of the bench settling under our weight broke the silence again, and was enough to make me look back at her. As I turned, the corner of my eye caught her turning her head too, and before I could stop myself, our eyes met for a second, just a moment, through her sunglasses.

We both looked away quickly, stung by the awkward moment. I looked down at my hands in my lap, and she brushed her fingers through her hair, as if nothing had happened. The tension seemed to increase. We were just two strangers, waiting for the ride that would take us away from here, and nothing more. The rules of society, taught from young, say never to talk to strangers, and we carry that tragic lesson to the end.

Out of my peripheral vision I noticed her turning again, so I tilted my head to catch her face in the corner of my eye. She was looking at me, and she didn't know I could see her eyes through her sunglasses. We held eye contact for a few vital seconds. I let the corners of my mouth turn up slightly into an awkward smile.

Her lips pursed and she smiled back for a few seconds. Then with a rattle from the bench, she stood up and walked out of the shelter onto her waiting bus. I hadn't even heard it arrive.

I watched as the bus drove away, belching dark smoke from its sides. Then I was alone once again, with only my thoughts for company.

I turned my head and looked to the side, two seats over. The plastic on the bench was cracked there, sharp edges poking up through the rubber coating. There isn't anything more to this world, just practicality. You sit next to someone, because the other seats are broken. You keep silent, because to speak would be to break the lessons taught from childhood. You wear sunglasses, even when the sky is gray, to hide your eyes, the windows to the soul, from the world.

My bus arrived in a few minutes, but I stayed until the next one, waiting for hope, but it never came.