People always say you should write what you know and so the first few of my P: W[u]B entries will probably be fiction based on real life, and I apologize for that but it's hard enough jumping back into the deep end of writing without doing it wearing platforms and with an iron belt about your waist.
That said, I give you...
Topic #212 - The Human Zoo.
The almost nasal beeping sound as I step onto the bus and swipe my card is what snaps me out of my morningtime haze. It is 6:45am and I've been awake for exactly 17 minutes -- previous to that I'd been asleep for roughly 3 hours, so I'm finding consciousness an effort to say the very least.
As I move down the aisle I eye up my possible seat mates carefully -- this is a choice I will have to live with for the next 35 minutes and is one I have oft regretted by the end of my journey. In the first seat, directly behind the driver is a shrivelled woman with greying hair that is gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She sits huddled forward -- though I cannot tell if this is by choice or nature -- clutching her gigantic purse [which even I, fashionless though I may be, cringe a little to behold (on the inside, mind, making faces at strangers on the bus is something I have LONG since learned not to do)] to her person, fingers digging into the almost carpet-like material as though she fears I might snatch it up at any moment. I dismiss this seat and continue down the aisle.
About 3 seats from the back door there is another free seat, though the person occupying the other half of it is sitting on the aisle side, with his coat next to him. His chin is lifted with self importance and I can see a very fancy looking briefcase between his very fancy looking shoes. I have almost made it down the aisle to him and there is a line of people behind me who need seats too, and yet he does not move. His arms are folded as if to challenge any one of us to ask him to move, and though he is a thin man [probably quite tall, from the way his knees are jammed uncomfortably into the seat in front of him] I feel intimidated by him. If that wasn't enough to make me walk by him and find another seat, he ignorantly turns his head - his gaze now directed out the window. I almost giggle at his pompous ass as I continue down the aisle.
As I have passed the halfway point of the bus, it is now -- apparently -- 'cool' for school kids to sit here and I find that I am climbing over sports bags, tennis rackets and instrument cases, to make my trek more interesting the bus has now pulled away from the stop. It's peak hour traffic so the constant stop-starting means I have to cling to the seats as I make my way through the menagerie of screaming, swearing snot-factories.
Finally I spy a seat to the left, 2 seats from the back. I sidestep over a case that must surely contain a Viola or something of that size before pivoting on one foot and plonking down in the available space. I'm not picky enough to stand for 35 minutes until I get to work and as far as I can tell there are no other free seats from this point onward. I take a moment to arrange my skirt and fix my jacket so it doesn't trail on the ground and it is in that moment that I feel my heart drop to my chest. My nose twitches -- once, and then again -- and suddenly it is upon me. A stench that must surely have climbed from the depths of hell! My throat tightens and I have to make a real effort not to dry wretch. I turn to my right, slowly [for there is fear in my heart] and behold my seat-mate.
Like something out of a horror film she sits, from her muddy gumboot-clad feet to her birdsnest-esque hair, shovelling something brown and chunky into her vast, toothless mouth. I'm not sure if it is her or her meal that reeks of death and hopelessness and everything that is foul and unholy in this world but I turn immediately to face the front of the bus -- as though not seeing her might make the smell slightly less overpowering.
I sit like this, frozen, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands, swallowing hard every few seconds for what feels like years. I look at my phone -- 6:51am.
I exhale, hard, and turn to glance out the window on the other side of the bus. We're about to pull into the last stop before exiting onto the Busway -- from there it's a straight shot into the city. I think I can do this, I think to myself -- and as though to argue with that thought, from beneath me I feel the seat vibrate and hear a slow, drawn out squeak. I turn to the abomination next to me, my jaw dropping uncontrollably -- I grew up in a house with 3 brothers and even I am horrified by what has just happened. I realise my mistake and my mouth closes so quickly and fast that my jaw aches. Even being late to work is not worse that this, I decide in a heart beat and grab my bag from the ground beside me, stumbling clumsily over the mountain of children-crap and not even bothering to buzz my card in my haste.
As I step off the bus I take a long, drawn out breath -- savouring the sweet smell of trees and cars and the suburbs. I swing my bag over my shoulder and move toward the seating area, sighing to myself as I eye up my first possible seatmate...
xx. A
2 comments:
MY LIFE. Oh, the morning public transport dilemmas of metropolis.
I can't really provide any constructive feedback, but I loved it. You have always been good with comedy writing. Do you still have those old notebooks you used to fill up? I remember you reading me excerpts, and once you've done some new writing, post some on here.
I meant to reply to this yesterday and infact I have a memory of doing it so maybe I'm just going insane!
Thank youuu. I'm still really nervous about sharing this stuff because it's been sooo long since I've written any real fiction but (I hope) it will get easier with time.
I lost a lot of my writing =[ Between moving so much and changing computers and whatnot, the only stuff I really have left is what was posted to various online journals. It's very sad but I'm determined to write new, better stuff to replace it all !
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