The Bus(a memoir)

Cover Image

The bus was standing at the bus stop for too long. My road to the cemetery, where were buried my former friends, was more than ordinary - even traffic jams didn’t stop us. People were beginning to chat of our prolonged halt, when I saw a running girl through the window. She ran and her red curls, and dress of all colors of the rainbow, and a handbag from which peeped a folder, were flying in all directions.

She entered and the bus started moving. At first I did not pay attention to her - well, you never know how many running women can be seen in the bus window. When she gave the money to the driver and moved closer to the middle of the cabin, I could, looking above the "Great Gatsby" overlook her more precisely. Her red hair, soft and almost aristocratic features, lively eyes that still had the spark, which fades in people over the years.

I gasped. I belong to that kind of people who choose logic between sense and logic. At first I was absolutely taken aback. I could not tear my eyes away from her even for a split second. I stood with hardly holding the handrail.

I could not boast of a special interest among women, so I had nothing  to compare with. But still - she was the most beautiful creature on this fucking planet called Earth. Her body exuded passion and sexuality, but not vulgar, not lust, but mature, like an expensive wine.

She was typing something briskly into the phone, and stopped abruptly. It seems that she felt the way I look at her. Picking up her green eyes (what can be more beautiful than redhead girl with green eyes?) She looked at me. I would, I simply had to, to look away – cause that’s a mauvais ton to look at a stranger for so long. But I could not. And she kept looking at me. We stood and just looked into each other's eyes, not caring or even noticing other passengers or stops. Even though an airliner crashed into the bus now, we’d continue to look at each other.

 At some point I decided to approach her and get acquainted.

- Hi, my name is ...

She put her finger to my lips.

- Shut up, let it remain as it is. We've known each other forever, even though we met for the first time. Don’t speak a word – they spoil everything.

Removing the finger, easily kissed me. I replied. It was the sweetest kiss. This did not have that touch of vulgarity inherent in most of the kisses. She put her arms around my neck - one my arm around her waist.

We stood there, holding each other, missing stops, one after another. I do not even remember how long ago my stop was. I did not want to know when it will be hers. We were together for only a moment, but at the same time, for eternity.

After passing a couple of stops, she whispered:

- I have to go.

- I know.

I kissed her again, this time more passionately and lightly biting her lower lip. She responded in kind.

 And she left.

 No turning back. But it would be superfluous. This could ruin everything. She knew it and did not turn around and I was grateful for that.

Coming next, took a cigarette lighter. Took a long drag on my cigarette. I was the happiest and unhappiest man at the same time. I clearly understood that if she stayed a moment longer, what happened between us, love it or something else, would evaporate. It has become too common, and eventually turned into the most ordinary “life”. But this did not happen and I was happy.

We'll meet, but not soon, that's for sure. Under other circumstances. In the meantime, I got another "cancer stick" lit up with my best friend’s Zippo-gift, and went home.

Created: Jan 05, 2012

Tags: literature, writing, solitude, love, text

AlexFalangi Document Media