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	Bus Stop
	Every morning at the same time, Mark woke up, got dressed and strolled to the nearest bus top, waiting impatiently in various weathers for his bus. Standing at a bus stop at the same time on a daily basis meant you got to know the other passengers to see, even acknowledging some with a nod. His favourite was a red haired lady in her late twenties. When he stepped on the bus, she was already on it and stayed on past the stop he got off at. He always tried to sit near her because he liked the fresh smell of her perfume and it made a huge difference from the usually sweaty smell that tended to engulf buses in general. She never looked at him but he always tried to stare at her without her noticing. Her hair was always tied back in a high ponytail, her skin very pale with peach blusher on the apple of her cheeks. That and clear lip-gloss was her only makeup. She was not beautiful but she had a face that made him want to look twice at her. She was slim and slightly haughty looking. She didn’t look like the sort of person who was easily approachable. She always wore black and he often wondered where she was going. He usually spent his time on the bus daydreaming about her. He pictured scenarios where she needed help and he would come to her rescue or else she would get off at his stop and they would speak. Simple, innocent little fantasies that filled the void created by doing nothing on the bus journey. People watching could get very interesting in those boring moments. In truth Mark was lonely. He was shy, awkward, and uncomfortable in his own skin. Women tended to assume that they were too good for him and he was often lumped in with people thought to be in his league. But these people repulsed him just as much as he repulsed himself. He felt old and sweaty sitting on the bus every day, travelling to a job that wasn’t going anywhere and never would. So many people gathered together with empty lives, blank stares, and vacant expressions. The redhead was the one person he saw in the mornings who looked…alive. Something about her drew him in. She always looked clean, well groomed, bright and untainted. The light freckles spread across her nose and cheeks made her look young and innocent. He never heard her speak, never caught her eye but he respected her. Days ran in together, sometimes a regular passenger would disappear, a new passenger would become a regular but Mark and the redhead normally appeared. He began to think of her as a friend. He had thought of so many things that all of his assumptions became real in his head. He believed she was everything he thought and more. He still sat as close to her as possible, observed quietly. His palms would sweat if she looked in his direction but he was a shy person, even a friend could make him nervous. Mark looked forward to his bus journeys, looked forward to the mornings when he would inhale the scent of her perfume. He worked up the courage to speak to her every morning while waiting at the bus stop. Every time he boarded the bus and saw her face, all of his courage melted away. He daydreamed about her, dreamt of her, fantasized of becoming her friend, her confidante, her lover. He lived for his dreams, journeys, fantasies, thoughts of what could be. On one occasion she let her scarf fall to the ground. Without thinking, Mark swiftly picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket. He looked up, face flushed with a sweaty forehead to see an elderly woman with deeply indented wrinkles stare at him, bewildered. He looked back at her blankly, stomach churning as he prayed she wouldn’t open her mouth. She didn’t but she still stared, accusingly now but uncertain, as if she couldn’t be sure of what she had just seen. Mark looked defiantly out of the window until it was his stop. He couldn’t get the bus the following morning for fear the old woman had told the redhead after he had gotten off the bus. But it was worth it. The scarf smelled exactly like her as if the black wool had been sprayed directly with perfume. It was intoxicating and he gripped it tightly while he slept, storing it under his pillow. The smell didn’t last forever though, besides, it gave him a yearning for more. A stale scarf was no longer enough for Mark. He wanted more. He felt like they had a connection now. She had nodded at him in recognition a number of times now. Each time he had jerked his own head awkwardly in response before blushing a deep red and sweating even more profusely than usual. He became depressed. She hadn’t travelled on the bus for two weeks. For those two weeks he had yearned for her presence, her scent, the slight swish of her hair when she moved. He had nothing to look forward to, no light in the darkness leading the way. This was probably why he became so brave the next time she was on the bus. He actually smiled at her and felt his heart jump as she returned the favour coyly, dropping her eyes. This was it. Today was the day. He would talk to her today. The bus passed his stop but he made no move. He could wait until it was time. She surprised him by jumping up to get off the bus. He almost didn’t make it out the door in time. She moved quickly down a busy street. He could barely keep up, a painful stitch stabbed his right side and his breathing became laboured and raspy. But still he hurried; he wanted to catch up with her before she reached her workplace. He jumped as he heard her squeal loudly. Flinched as he saw her run into the arms of another. Frowned as he heard her voice, not the softly spoken melody he had expected but a loud, harsh irritating noise. He saw her kiss the one that held her, let him grope her, squeeze her backside as she laughed coarsely. The light she seemed to bring to the bus faded. The haughty look was replaced by something else. Her manner was not as dignified or ladylike as he had imagined. Nothing was like he imagined. Mark was confused. He hadn’t seen the real her at all. Had he imagined their connection? Had he wasted all of his time on someone who wasn’t his and never would be once again? Still hearing her squeals, he sighed deeply, bowed his head and shuffled slowly back to the bus stop to catch a bus to work. Riding on buses with a lonely heart was a risky business.
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