12 March 2015 fiction, "The Bus Stop"

Typically the man was alone as he sat waiting at the bus stop. It was a somewhat obscure station, far enough from the city to be considered out of the way, and yet still close enough to warrant a bus to stop there.

Typically the man was alone at the bus stop, save for his thoughts.

He would wait on the bench for about fifteen minutes, crossing and uncrossing his hands patiently. The breeze would vary slightly depending on what time of year it was, but everything else remained the same. In fact, there had been a scrap of newspaper, wet and stuck to the curb above the gutter that had managed to stay in the same place for three weeks straight.

The man took notice of small things like this. He only came to this bus stop once a week; Sundays were the day he allowed himself to withdraw from his weeklong practice of sanctity and let a long moment of passion consume him.

However, today was different. Today, there was a small young woman sitting on the bus stop bench when he arrived there. The man was surprised to see her, it was the first time he had ever been at the bus stop with another person beside him. Unsure of what to do, he glanced at the woman, the bench, and then at the curb.

Unsettled, he rested his gaze there, wishing he had an old scrap of newspaper to briefly take his thoughts.

It was a long minute and a half before the woman looked up and saw him standing there. After an initial moment of surprise, she smiled softly.

“Please, sit.”

The man was silent. He uncomfortably shuffled over to the bench and sat on the edge of it, holding his body stiffly and avoiding the woman’s gaze.

He felt a bead of sweat form on the back of his neck, eventually felt it begin to slowly migrate to his back. In a brief moment of panic, as he felt the bead creep past his waist, the man wondered if this woman was religious. If she were, might she have a sense of what he had just done?

He shook off this fear, reached behind his ear and scratched.

The woman cleared her throat, and he whipped around to face her, perhaps a bit too eagerly. The woman looked up and smiled again.

“Sorry, did I startle you?”

The man shook his head, quickly looked away again. His mind flashed through the past hour. He had locked the freezer door tightly, never forgot to do that. Feeling the key in his pocket, he smiled internally. If the key was there, the door was in no danger of being opened. It only opened with one key, and even if that key was copied, only he knew the complex number code to open the second door.

A breeze whistled quietly. The man looked intently at an ant attempting to cross a crack in the sidewalk. The woman cleared her throat again, crossed and re-crossed her legs. Another bead of sweat made its way down the man’s back.

The moments passed slowly, leaving the man to his thoughts. In the silence he tried to keep calm, but paranoia crept in anyway.

He turned to the woman.

“Do you believe in God?” he asked suddenly.

The woman’s eyes grew clouded. She nodded slowly, then looked off to the distance.

“Not as much as I used to. It’s why I’m leaving this town.”

The man felt a shiver of dread. She must have known what he did, any respectable person could tell sin when it was around her. He had believed he could escape it, and yet here it was. Punishment was inescapable, God was universal.

What was so unfair, the man thought, was that he would never get a good chance to explain himself.

Somewhere in the thoughts of his dreaded fate, the man remembered the woman. Who was to say she was any more deserving of pardon than he? He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was tapping her fingers nervously, biting her lip with what appeared to be crooked teeth.

Yes, who was to say she saw his sin any more than he saw hers? She was leaving her town, after all. Who could miss a person who wasn’t able to stay in one place? She was alone, too. People didn’t travel alone unless they were doing something they wished to keep private. He knew this well.

The bus arrived quietly, startling the man out of his thoughts. He reached for a coin in his pocket, followed the woman as she stood and walked toward the open bus door. Smiling at the bus driver, he deposited his coin and continued to shadow the woman as she chose a seat toward the back.

He stared at her head as the bus’s doors hissed shut, kept his eyes trained as the old thing picked itself off the street and pushed its wheels forward again.

There was no telling of whether this woman really knew where she was going anyway, she was young and it appeared to be her first time on a bus. The man could tell this by the way she gazed out the window.

As the bus continued its route toward civilization in the city, the man pictured his favorite alley, the one right next to his apartment building. It was dark, had three dumpsters, and provided good access to his section of the apartment building’s basement.

It was quickly approaching Monday, but he was off of work anyway, was willing to make an exception to his Sunday rule, this time. Anyway it had been a while since he had used the alley, been in the basement. The freezer in his cabin was beginning to look empty; he was yearning to fill it again, fill himself with desire to let his passions consume him again.

The knives were clean, the extra large cello case was waiting patiently in the basement. The man checked his watch. It was still early enough to catch the bus back to his stop. He would have just enough time to put everything away for next time, double lock the doors, and catch the last bus for the night.

The man licked his lips. There were four stops left, and he had made up his mind. If she got off on his stop, she was a sinner. He would allow himself to break his rule, would allow himself this time to fill his freezer on a Monday. He wouldn’t cook tonight, that would be gluttonous. But nothing was wrong with preparing it for next time. And if the woman didn’t get off on his stop? Well then, he would have to wait. Until next Sunday, until he could find another woman who radiated sin strong enough for his liking.

At the third to last stop, the woman briefly turned her head, and the man noticed she was wearing pearl earrings. He licked his lips again.

At the second to last stop, he held his breath as she shifted, terrified she would get up. Fortunately, she cleared her throat and remained seated. He smelled her perfume, breathed deeply and took the scent through his nose and all the way to his tongue.

At his stop, the bus slowed and the doors hissed open. After a moment, the bus driver turned to look at the man and the woman, the only two passengers. Finally, after another tense moment of uncertainty, the woman stood. The man’s heart soared, and he stood as well. As she stepped toward the front of the bus, he cracked his knuckles methodically.

She waved to the bus driver, stepped to the curb. The man nodded to the driver, who tipped his hat politely.

As the woman walked, the man could hardly contain his excitement. He approached behind the woman, said something about the weather, the long drive from one bus stop to another. The woman smiled, hardly noticed his arm slip around the air behind her waist.

As they approached his alley, the man nudged his arm closer to the woman, kept his tone quiet and friendly.

She noticed his touch, but was too polite to mention it. As he nudged her into the shadow of the alley, she turned to face him, a look of question in her face.

The man smiled sweetly at her, pushed her into the shadow, and finally gave himself to his desires.

She hadn’t as much as screamed before he had her by the thin little throat. Completely blinded by passion, he held her steady until she was limp. Laughing quietly, he kissed her behind the ears, his lips scratched gently by the metal back of one of the pearl earrings.