XI. At the bus stop

On the way home, I grabbed a bite in a dinner since I had the intention to straight go to bed to end the day. I just ordered the first thing on the menu, ate as rapidly, and carried on. When I got home, I started by finding a place where to hang Hermione's newly-made painting. I searched and searched, and I ultimately decided to put it in my room, just leaning on the wall opposite to my bed; I wanted to see it when I'd wake up. Satisfied with that emplacement, I crept into the bed, and the next thing I knew, the morning sun was shining on the 'Portrait of a man I like'.

I had another free day; lately, the shortness of my life came more often in my mind, and I'd feel the absurdity of it all as frequently. I decided to not give a damn though. Since I had nothing to do, I just went to the convenience store, bought another bottle of whiskey, some crackers for the day, and I was on the carpet again. I played some of my favorite songs as getting drunk; the ceiling was as awfully white, but I didn't laugh this time for some reason. Maybe I wasn't drunk enough, or just happy, I guessed. At some point, I started to move my hand in rhythm with the tunes, though, my movements were sloppy and it was more an impression than reality.

I was already drunk. Then, I heard the lyrics 'When I glance at someone's back at the bus stop, you, as you were in that summer, are in my head'.

And like a dying man, I remembered it all.

How we first met.

It was around the 4th of July. My father decided to make me take some guitar lessons as a change since I was sitting my ass all day like a lazybones should. He didn't like that because I was still a kid, and a kid alone in a house could only do bad things, at least that was what he thought. So, he bought the cheapest acoustic guitar around, which still was decent even though the buzzing sounds when you played high-pitched notes. The class started around 3 p.m and ended at 6. It really did bother me, but I was doing something productive of my time anyway. Another bothering fact, my father wouldn't take me back; I had to go home on my own by bus or by walking.

The latter option didn't appeal to me since the place was about half an hour or so from my house, so I had to patiently wait for the former. I met her there. I gazed at her curly red hairs from a distance, and she didn't seem to notice since she was painting in the small notebook that she used to bring with her all the time and that I had since long not seen. She also used to take in her pockets a watercolor pen as a brush and a small palette of the size of her palm. But the real reason why she couldn't notice the obtrusive peeping tom was the earphones on her ears.

I continued watching her from the opposite side of the stop, in the coldness of summer's solitude. It was quiet; not even a sound escaped her mouth or her earphones, and I was simply there, spectator of the world. I started to worry a little bit when still no bus came by; I must have already waited for half an hour or so. If I weren't so lazy, I'd already be at home by now, I thought. But I quickly found my consolation in the fact that I was a lazybones. My liver started to ache, perhaps because I stood up for too long or I didn't drink enough water. You gotta stay hydrated in life. So I sat down, a foot or so away from Hermione, still trying to paint the scenery before her eyes.

But at some point, she just dryly reaped the paper on which she was doing so before crumpling it in a ball with an odd force. She threw it and clenched her fist very quickly after. Then, she relaxed a little bit, but I could see her fingers shaking a little bit; she turned a page, started to paint again on the blank paper, but she repeated her act from earlier. Intrigued, I looked up at her face and the concern very obviously expressed itself through her tightening lips. She began to be more agitated.

The composure of her face very rapidly decayed as fear invaded her body. I was more and more concerned about the girl when her being swayed to the rhythm of anxiety, leading her to a frantic state. At last, her attack reached its peak when she brought her quivering hand to her chest and exhaled nothing. I hurriedly stood up from the bench and faced her with growing anxiety too; I had no idea what to do.

"Help me…" she very softly whispered. The softness of her voice gave me chills down my spine.

"Crap, what's wrong?" I almost shouted. She tried to talk but began suffocating; I leaned my ear next to her face.

"Anxiety… attack…" the way she trailed off her words made me insanely nervous.

"Ok, but what can I do? Do I call an ambulance or what? Come on!"

"Distract…" she said. She then gestured in a stiff movement to her notebook.

"You wanna paint?" I ask.

"Help… hand…" her voice was the faintest possible.

Without even understanding, she took my hand and put it on hers; it was as though my whole being was trembling too. Then, she grasped the watercolor pen; she looked at my eyes and I understood. She started to move the pen across the paper and I supported each of her strokes with my hand on hers. At some point, and couldn't tell exactly when, I started patting her back; I felt her heartbeats getting quieter. She was gradually calming down, and after ten minutes or so, she was almost fine and she could already breathe; only some faint shaking was in her hands. For some reason, I still didn't take my hand away when she finished; she didn't either.

"You fine now?" I asked.

"Yeah," she shyly replied. "Thank you."

"Huh, you're welcome, I guess. I couldn't just let you choke there, you know."

"But thank you anyway," awkward silence followed, and our hands were still on one another.

"You're really good at painting," I blurted out, having nothing else to say.

"Thanks," she replied as shyly. Then, after a moment, she carried on, "You really think so?"

"I'm not an art person, but I can tell beauty like anyone."

"No, these are just crappy drawings to ease my worries, you know."

"Don't say that. I find your crappy drawings beautiful."

"Thank you," this time more genuine.

"How long have you been doing that?"

"Well," she muttered. "Around a year or so. It's supposed to help me with the anxiety."

"Must be hard," I commented without knowing what else to say. "The bus's pretty late, huh?"

"Sure it is. I've been here longer than you and still, none came by."

"Guess we're just unlucky."

"Why are you waiting?"

"Just finished three hours of guitar lessons. What about you?"

"Just finished three hours of therapy. My dad couldn't pick me up today."

"My dad couldn't pick me up too, or on any other day, I guess."

"Must be hard," she paraphrased. Our discussion was going through eternal recurring.

With the silence which followed, my liver started to hurt again; I might've just forgotten about it in the heat of the action. I took my hand to the pain and stabbed under my right ribs with the point of my finger to soothe the ache. I did all that discreetly as possible, with my other hand still on hers. But she seemed to notice how I was touching my right side.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"No, it's just my liver. I had some issues with it for a while," whereupon I moaned a little.

"You're definitely not fine. Is there something I could do to help?"

"You got some water?" she took out a bottle from her bag and I drank. "Thanks. I might still complain a bit so you should just leave me alone."

"But you didn't leave me alone earlier." I smiled a little bit.

"I'll accept the company then, fellow sick friend," she laughed a little bit. "No offense taken, I hope."

"You're right anyway, we're both sick. Let us find some joy in common suffering." she ran her thumb on my hand.

"I'll gladly drink to that, with water I guess," she chuckled as I drank the bottle.

A less awkward silence followed.

"We still didn't introduce to each other, right?" she said. "I'm Hermione."

"Nice to meet you. The name's Edward, but I guess Eddie works better."

"Nice to meet you, Eddie," she smiled and I felt embarrassed somehow. "So, Eddie," she muttered, "wanna listen to music as waiting?" she asked as putting one earphone in my right ear. She put the other one on her left.

"Am I just supposed to accept?" I joked.

"Sheesh, just enjoy it."

She hit on the play button on her phone. Hermione had tons of Midwest emo songs, but she had good taste overall. The pain in my liver gradually stopped too, and by the time I noticed, I was already leaning my head on her shoulder, like some despairing man. She didn't care though; I remember very well the moment when she held my hand, as we were drowsy. In the remaining agony, I grasped her hand harder, and she would pat mine in return. She finally leaned her head on mine too, and we slept for a while.

We were both woke up by an exploding sound; almost compulsively, I clenched to her hand. She first looked straight into my eyes with fear, but she very rapidly calmed down when we both noticed that it was a firework display. It was most probably some rich-ass kids in town enjoying their summer. We watched the latter as we held hands and lay unto one another. I felt very happy; the warmth coming from her was something totally alien to me. I had no friend, always suffering and hiding somewhere, escaping the indifferent mocking of others, so someone who could understand was the most blissful encounter in my life. I felt deep down that Hermione was thinking the same.

In the evening darkness, the vivid colors of the fireworks were reflecting on her as blissful face. I found her very beautiful, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I know how cheesy it sounds, but I really couldn't help gazing at her at that time; how beautiful she was. Like everything in this world, the fireworks finally ended. Hermione looked at her phone to see that it was past 8. I let out a sigh as realizing that the bus didn't come by at all, and more as realizing my time with her had to end too. Both reluctant to part from each other, she looked at my eyes.

"So, what's the plan now?" she asked.

"Guess we have to walk. I'll take you to your house since it's this late," I replied.

"I'd very much appreciate," her smile shined in the evening's shadows. "Let's go!"

I smiled too before walking as the link between our hands broke. But she was still there anyway; she was playfully dancing and singing under the dim lights of a town in the middle of nowhere. The fireworks' scenery was lingering in our mind, and we ended up stopping by a store selling some firecrackers and small and cheap fireworks too. At that time, we both wasted all our money, and we laughed about that. We didn't even stop to fire all that we bought, we just threw firecrackers around town, and Hermione dangerously shot the fireworks in town as pretending to be a wizard; I chuckled at her antics. At last, when only smoke flew in the air, we arrived at her place.

She knocked and her worried parents opened; I had to testify the never-coming of the bus, and they thanked me for accompanying their daughter. And before getting back to my own place, Hermione grabbed my sleeve as her parents went back into the house.

"Eddie," she mildly said. "It was nice hanging out with you. So…" she trailed off.

"Huh," I embarrassedly said. "Wanna hang out again? I mean, it's summer, so I got a lot of time to spend." I continued in an uneasy tone.

"Yeah," she smiled with all her might. "That would be nice."

"Here's my number anyway," I said as taking out my phone. She took out hers and we exchanged contacts.

"Well, goodbye, I guess," she finally replied.

"Hum, goodbye, sleep tight, good night," I awkwardly said.

"Good night," her smile already gave me insomnia.

On that, she closed the door before reopening it again in half.

"Eddie, if you really like my crappy drawings, wanna see my big paintings next time?"

"I'd very much appreciate," I replied as she closed the door once and for all.

Staring at the awfully white ceiling, I laughed again.