Night Bus

Night Bus

I stuck my arm out into the air, well, I say arm, it was more like a
flick of the wrist and even then you could hardly call it a big
gesture, but nethertheless the bus pulled up. Probably on its final
journey after a busy day, the bus breathed a sigh of relief as it lay
down its wheel arches to rest gently on the fat tires underneath.
Seemingly pleased to see me, it swung its doors jerkily open; one sharp
parting action, a brief pause to check I was paying attention, and then
a final flick either side to signal that it was ready for my
entrance.

I barely had to raise my foot to step on to the bus, which pleased me,
as my legs were still tender from a work out at the gym two days ago.
Satisfied, I walked towards the driver's compartment. On my way I
noticed that there was no handrail in the middle of the entrance, most
likely present so as to allow adequate access for wheel chair users.
This is something I usually agree with whole-heartedly, but I had been
drinking Guinness and was carrying myself like I'd swallowed a
pendulum. I needed support (I always need support) and as ever, I
wasn't getting any.

Luckily, I immediately sensed some forthcoming stability upon first
sight of the bus driver. He was late 30's, early 40's, muscular build,
with black wiry hair receding from the middle of the forehead and a
small, firm beer belly sticking out just proud of his waist band. His
eyes and nose were all the same jersey potato shape, and he had a huge,
fat-lipped smile that seemed to mouth the word "happy" all through the
air around it. He fixed this expression on me for a good three seconds.
I cocked my head limply to one side and stared hazily back at
him.

"New Mills please"; I said sluggishly after what seemed like hours. My
head was now flopped down above my chest, causing my speech to dribble
down sloppily onto the floor. I prepared myself to utter the request
again.

"$1.65 please pal"; he said in a honey-coated drawl. He'd heard me. I
was his pal. I couldn't believe how readily he was willing to accept
me. The sensation was nothing short of enlightenment. Then I reached
into my pocket.

Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was the surprise that the bus had
actually stopped, but either way, I had stupidly neglected to prepare
the correct change before I'd got on. Generally, it's counted out
exactly, at least five minutes in advance - but not this time. Like hot
tomato juice steadily filling up a condom, I could feel my normally
pallid, translucent skin taking on a warm red glow as I rummaged around
my too-tight jean pocket to find some money. Even in the narrow
confines of the pocket, my hand trembled and shuddered, making it
impossible to get a firm grip on the loose coins inside. My back began
to itch all over and I sent my other hand to scratch it, only for my
nails to slide around on the thin glaze of sweat dripping down from my
neck to my hips. All of my clothes began to visibly stick to my skin,
revealing the well-toned but comfortably softened results of three
years of regular workouts and sporadic drinking binges. Normally this
pleased me but at that moment I felt naked and completely on show. I
decided the only thing to do was to step back and let the person behind
me pay their fare and get on the bus.

Except there wasn't anybody behind me. There wasn't anybody next to me.
The bus driver was in front of me, and a quick glance down the aisle
revealed that there wasn't anyone else on the bus. With this revelation
a sub zero breeze shot up my body, tearing through the bond between my
skin and clothes and fading the deep red of my face into a bleached out
wash. My hand became able to grip tight onto a few coins and I pulled
them out of my pocket. I was now in a steady state of relief, but my
sweaty palm had heated up the coins - two 50p's, a 20, a 10, and two
5's - producing a strong aroma of metal. As this soon mixed with the
diesel fumes of the bus and my alcoholic breath, a pungent perfume was
created that made me feel indescribably sick. (I'm never sick -
although sometimes I wish I were, if only to give me some kind of
release.)

The bus driver was still smiling, which suggested to me that either his
face was now very sore, or that not much time had actually elapsed.
This reduced my nausea and I found another 25p in my other pocket and
placed all the money in the plastic tray fastened to his door. With a
swift slide of one stubby hand, the bus driver pushed the change into
an open till and pressed a couple of keys on his thick plastic-coated
keypad. My ticket rolled out from the machine. I opened my mouth to say
thank you, but there was a lot of saliva sticking the two parts of my
jaw together, so I settled for a polite nod of the head. The bus driver
nodded back and then began to chuckle. I walked down the aisle of the
bus and wondered if he was laughing at my bald patch. (I still haven't
decided if I've got a bald patch, or if it's just an area of
particularly fine hair, but I'm checking every day all the same.)

I sat down on the left-hand side of the bus, near the middle, just
before the floor level rises to accommodate the engine bay. I chose
that position to allow adequate room for my long legs and also so I had
a good view of the bus driver. The relief of sinking my drunken body
into the worn fabric seats caused me to drift into a state of semi
consciousness. My head rolled and dipped and my eyelids felt so heavy I
thought they would drop through my cheeks and onto the floor. This
lasted, intermittently, for what seemed like two minutes. Then I was
snapped out of it.

"You OK there pal?" said a voice, at once making my ears throb and
strain as they decided where the sound was coming from. I blinked
repeatedly and the inside of my head became momentarily engulfed in a
thick grey mist as I jerked back upright.

"You OK pal?" It was the bus driver. There was still no one on the bus.
He was talking to me. Sadly, I couldn't talk to him.

Aiming to be oblivious rather than ignorant, I turned around to face
the window and was pleased to find my reflection staring back at me. I
angled my head in different directions and parted my hair gently with
the tips of my fingers. It was futile as the darkness outside mixed
with the harsh artificial lighting inside made it impossible to see
whether I had any bald spots or not. I snorted, possibly with derision
- definitely with a lot of mucus. Then, inevitably, the dreaded
question came:

"You're a bit quiet aren't you pal?" He was right of course; I was a
bit quiet, very quiet. In fact, you could argue that I was borderline
dumb, but I wasn't about to admit to that. I suppose he hadn't phrased
it too badly and there did seem to be some genuine inquisition in his
tone, but that wasn't enough; the kerosene had been thrown onto the
coal-lite.

I turned my head away from the window and rose quickly out of my seat.
The bus was moving pretty quickly and swaying from side to side. I
moved pretty quickly and swayed from side to side. I reached the front
of the bus in a matter of seconds and found myself stood just inches
from the driver. The momentum of this movement, together with the surge
of hurt pride rushing through my body resulted in my mouth shouting a
clear and concise "Hello!"

Unfortunately, my speech began and ended there as the bus rapidly
slowed down and pulled into the side of the road. My body jerked a
little but I remained upright. The suspension hissed and the floor
lowered. Then nothing happened. I immediately concluded that I had
startled the driver. I had forced him to slam on the breaks to avoid
any possible collisions with oncoming vehicles. I had obviously
provoked him into a state of shock.

Then the doors of the bus emitted a long, shrill sigh and opened
inwards. My peripheral vision caught the bus driver gesturing his other
arm out towards the open doors. I decided he was ordering me to leave
his bus. I slowly moved my body in the direction of his pointing arm
and stuck my head out into the darkness outside. Expecting oblivion, I
was greeted with the muted glow of a dying street lamp. It was lazily
illuminating a bus stop sign. It was a bus stop. That's why the bus
driver had stopped the bus. For once, the physical reality was far more
welcome than the imaginary projections shooting from my head.

I drew in a long breath of night air that dried my throat and stung my
teeth, and swallowed it down whole. It was fresh and exhilarating; but
it didn't taste as good as the Guinness. I turned back round and faced
the bus driver. Jesus, he was still smiling. I threw my gaze down to
the floor and began to play pointlessly with the buckle of my belt. I
didn't mind the whipping breeze coming through the open doors onto my
back but I realized, possibly for the first time, that I had to say
something.

"I don't want to get off the bus yet actually, I was just saying hello.
I'm really, really sorry. I don't want to get off". 25 words and my jaw
ached so much that I thought it had been dislocated. I tried to swallow
but the words had stolen all my saliva, leaving my throat tight and
cracked. I began to shake, and as I was still staring at the floor my
wobbling eyes created the illusion that I had three feet on each
leg.

"Don't worry about it pal, I had to stop here anyway", said the bus
driver, his honey voice even thicker and sweeter than before. I felt
the breeze narrowing as the doors jerked and snapped together behind
me, while the floor lifted me gently upwards. The bus started moving
again. I couldn't give up now. I had to get my mouth moving again. The
adrenaline smacked me hard in the face, pushing back my inhibitions and
knocking out my confidence. My muscles relaxed and even though the
floor had stopped rising, I still felt as if I was floating upwards. I
snatched my face upright and looked directly at the bus driver. Deep
breath. I was his pal. I was his pal. I was his&;#8230;

"So, you been driving buses for long? Do you enjoy it? I guess it gets
a bit boring after a while, what with going the same way every
day."

"Oh you know, it's not bad"

"I haven't got a job. I haven't had one in months. I used to make fuse
boxes in bulk and send them off to some company somewhere. I can't
remember what it was called. I didn't like it."

"Oh, sounds interesting"

"You think so? Wow thanks; that's great. Maybe it was. I'll phone up
tomorrow and see if I can start it again. Unless of course you'll let
me a bus driver like you."

"Well it's not really up to me&;#8230;"

"But you'll see what you can do? Great, thanks that's really kind. I
could start tomorrow if you like?"

"I don't know about that pal."

"We are aren't we? Pals I mean. I feel like I could tell you anything.
Can I come round to your house tomorrow?"

I don't know what he said, it might have been "not sure" or something
like that.

"That's great, I could cook a meal or something. I'll buy a recipe
book. I haven't got any money. I'll steal a recipe book.

Either he didn't say anything, or I stopped listening.

"I've been trying to decide what to wear. What do you think? I thought
we could go out afterwards. Maybe go on the pull or something like
that.

The bus began to slow down.

"We always get the ladies don't we? Well you do anyway. I always find
it a bit harder, but you try and help me out don't you?"

The bus came to a stop and the doors cracked open. There was a crowd of
people stood outside. Maybe five, maybe ten, they all looked identical.
They began to walk towards the open doors of the bus. But no shakes! No
sweats! No aches! No pains! I didn't care.

"I've invited these guys as well. We can all go out. It'll be
great.

The crowd of people walked up to the bus driver one by one. They paid
him money and he gave them tickets. Each time one walked past me, they
pushed me and scowled. I smiled at them and clapped my hands. I looked
back at the bus driver.

"I'll pick you up at seven. I've booked a table for eight so it'll give
us time for a few drinks before hand, is that OK?"

"You'll have to get off now. I need to get going and you've only paid a
fare up to here."

I looked at the bus driver. He wasn't smiling anymore. I looked down
the bus and saw all the people staring back at me. I looked back at the
bus driver. He wasn't smiling anymore.

My entire body shook from left to right in sharp, jarring movements.
Sweat poured from the top of my head, stinging my eyes and weighing
down my clothes. My skin burned and itched. My breath evaporated in the
heat and I began to choke on the dry air surrounding me. At once I
could see everything and nothing, everything and nothing, everything
and noth&;#8230;

I fell slowly backwards and rolled out of the open doors of the bus. I
landed on the pavement outside with my knees bent and my head pushed
down into my neck. The doors of the bus closed on the sound of coarse
laughter and cheers. The bus pulled out from the pavement and drove
away. I lifted my head up slightly and looked at the space where the
bus had been. I flicked my head from side to side and looked around me.
There was no one there. I lay on the pavement for forty-five minutes
and thought about how sore my legs were from my work out at the gym,
which by then, was probably almost three days ago.