Out the Door

I was swimming in unreality, a seascape of sound that was so pervasive it created a reality that my eyes could pick up on. One of colours and shapes. The clock flashed again inching closer to the time which I had to catch the bus. I was drawn to the face of the clock like a moth. It attracted me, pulled me like a tractor beam. It meant everything to me and became increasingly more important as the song faded into some other.

Suddenly I wasn't taking on water, I wasn't drowning in a sea of strangeness. I wasn't in the office anymore but I hadn't left work either. A great sense of urgency splashed huge waves through my guts like a cinderblock dropped into a pond. I had to go. I had to catch the bus or I'd never make it to the party. In the small city where I live the busses stop running regularly by ten o'clock and then it's a struggle to get cab. A city that behaved like the worst small town. I loved it here. The parks and old colonial buildings were abundant and beautiful, but it could be very difficult to get around.

I began my journey to the party from work at just slightly less than frantic pace toward the aforementioned bus stop. It was a lot farther than I thought and I had to jog part of the way. Like the hallway at work the street seemed to be telescoping outward, pushing the bus stop further a way. The closer I got, the further I was. Space what a concept. So immense and yet distance means nothing to an entangled particle. I've never met that part of me.

I panicked because I knew I was running out of time. "Did the wind sweep you off your feet?" Suddenly I was a short distance from the stop and all the street lights began to dim, flicker, and go out. Then, as if there was a dimmer switch for city lights they flared up to a dull lambency. They never got any brighter and I thought things really do diminish quickly. When I had met him it was like a hydrogen bomb going off, the radiation of our affection was enough to strip the skin off of everyone in the city and the neighbouring townships. There were times that we were so enrapt with one another we forgot to eat. I fainted in the bathtub once.

A bus appeared out of gloom heading directly toward me and the stop. I pushed myself harder, pumping my legs in order to get there before it passed by. I made it there, almost at the exact same time as the bus. It approached slowly and squealed to a halt. The LCD above the window that indicates the route was dark. So was the interior of the bus. It had the aura of a ghost bus driving out of the fog that separates our world from the next. I could barely make out the driver through the front windscreen in the low lighting. I had no idea if this was the right bus or not. I didn't think there were any other buses that passed this way and in my panicked state I hadn't paid any attention to time. Space does that to us as well. It draws all of our attention away from time. The doors slowly opened, they groaned and creaked as they did. I glanced around at the bus's foggy interior and looked up only to notice where it should have said the route and number above the door, it actually read, "Out of Service." Oddly enough the bus had stopped regardless, and the doors were open. An inviting embrace to the soft ambient glow of its interior. I got on and swiped my card staring at the middle-aged woman driver, who only gave a slight and vague nod, but said no words. Her mouth closed in a thin white line as if it were glued shut. I didn't even think to ask the driver where the bus was headed. I walked along the aisle of a bus that carried exactly me as a rider, choosing a seat near the middle. The space of the bus was immense without any other passengers.

We used to ride the bus together. Almost everywhere we went, we'd cuddle up next to one another and either play scrabble on our phones against one another, watch the city speed by out the window, or watch the other passengers if they were interesting to look at. I liked the ones with the carts full of plastic bags and random bric-a-brac. They always wanted to chat with strangers and would tell such horribly grandiose and sad stories about how they had been treated and by whom. It was fun to watch the faces of those to whom they'd regale. They'd be smug and sometimes show pity, but usually they'd roll their eyes and desperately look for someone to make eye contact with to communicate the annoyance and misery they felt. We didn't even always have a destination, we'd just get on and ride.

As the bus traversed the slick streets, I don't remember rain but the streets seemed wet and dark. It was as if the city itself had vacated the space. You could even compare it to the end of a party in which the clean up has begun, but everyone has either left or gone to bed. None of the lights were on. Even the traffic lights in the intersections seemed to have stopped changing. Red as dragon eyes, each and every one.

Because all light had been extinguished for the night, the city empty and completely dark, I had nothing but my ghastly reflection in the bus windows. I was far too pale. It was summer and I hadn't gotten out enough to get even the slightest shade darker. What had I been doing with my time? Damn space.

The bus began a long and winding path into an unseen abyss, and in eerie silence. Even the engine chugged along unheard. I'd mention how disconcerting this was. But I think you get the point already. Not a single thing about this night was normal. Not that there is a normalcy to life. There are so many twists and turns, triumphs and mistakes. Missed opportunities and opportunities never presented. Well, let me tell you, they are always presented in some form or fashion, but it really takes a trained eye to spot them. Missed opportunities acknowledged or not are almost always presented. We just don't know it and so, we don't know what we are missing. Especially until long after it is gone.