The Journey
by Alyssa Swan
Worse bus journey of my life!Dear God it stinks! It’s so hot and packed! I feel like a flipping sardine squashed here!
I look at the bulky man to myleft, his arm outstretched to hold onto the pole above our heads. A giant armpit sweat patch in my direct eyeline, the whiff directly in front of my nose. I turn my head before I retch, or worse vomit from the putrid smell. To my right though is a college student with a serious case of halitosis, and leering eyes that seem to think my face is in my cleavage. I huff, blowing my heavy fringe momentarily off my forehead as I decide just to stare blankly ahead through the window and not inhale.
The automaton voice tells uswhich stop is next and I sigh unhappily as I realise I have another five before my escape. A baby in a buggy in front of me starts bawling as the unmistakable whiff reaches my nostrils. Can this get any worse? I look around desperately, anywhere, please let there be somewhere I can move to get away from all ofthis. I will surely go insane in the five minutes it shall take to get to my stop.
The back doors open and I quickly gulp in fresh air even though it’s dry with the heatwave we’re experiencing. I feel a few beads of sweat roll down my face, I hate to think whatI look like. I feel like I’m in a sauna fully clothed and ridiculous. I receive a few elbows and feet on mine as people try to squeeze through non-existent gaps to the exit, apologising as they go. Surely the bus is overcrowded, probably a Health & Safety risk. We best not crash, that would make me very unhappy.
As we move off I spot a closed window and lose my cool with the teenager sitting beneath it to stop being dumb. Mr Sweaty mutters about the youth of today and smiles revealing a mouthfulof rotten teeth. Luckily Bad Breath is gone but now there’s a girl standing in his place who smells like she bathed in perfume, not nice perfume either. I look at her fixated, she has so much make-up on that I wonder how old she really is. Also how it is staying put in this heat and why she’s not sweating like the rest of us. I think her neck finally gives me the biggest clue, it’smore lined than an elephant’s, late thirties/early forties I conclude.
With that decided I start sweating and smelling my fellow passengers again until I wonder if they can smell me. Do I smell like Mr Sweaty? Have I got unsightly sweat patches too?Are they as repulsed by my smell as I am theirs? Is it me that I’m smelling anyway? I quickly sniff my armpits and chest before concurring that I still smell okay. The smell of cheese wafts up from Ms Ageless sandal feet. I look down at them and pull a face. What ugly feet! I would never wear sandals if my feet were that calloused, never in a million years.
The bus pulls up at the nextstop and I watch as the driver, sadist he is, opens the doors to let more people on. I open my mouth to protest before promptly clamping it shut as I see who is about to board. Michael, perfect Michael who never looks anything but 100% gorgeous. Michael who has been the object of my affections for the past year since he moved into my road.
I want to jump off the bus but the doors slide shut before I can take one step. I look a complete state, please don’t see me, please don’t. I spot my reflection in the window, OMG myhair looks like a scarecrow’s! This cannot be happening! When the bus starts moving I take a quick glance to see where he’s ended up standing. He’s by the baggage rack at the front, with any luck he won’t... He turns just then and sees me, he gives me a little smile and nods in acknowledgement.
Ground open up and swallow me whole please! I brush my fringe to one side and give him a little shy wave and smile. I hate the bus driver vehemently, things were bad enough with the collection of odours making it hard to breathe and now I doubly can’t breathe becausehe’s making his way up to me! Ms Ageless blocks his way and flutters her false eyelashes. I try not to laugh as I hide my face the only place available, Mr Sweaty’spits.
I feel stupid, he was smiling at her, he has come to talk to her not me! He probably hasn’t noticed me, whichI’m glad of for once. I feel a warm strong hand on my shoulder and forget I’m holding my breath and inhale Mr Sweaty’s scent before turning to find Michael’s beautiful face in front of me, grinning ear to ear. I splutter as I can literally taste Mr Sweaty. Yuck!
Words escape me, what should Isay? I glance down shyly at our feet and notice how white his trainers are. I feel dizzy as I stare at him and then a bump in the road propels me into hisarms. He catches me before I connect with his strong toned chest and laughs huskily looking down at me. I right myself and flick my fringe to one side again, still unsure what to say pass thanks. The automaton voice speaks.
“My stop, thanks for stopping me from face planting.”
“No probs, this is my stop, too. Michelle, have you time for a drink, with me?”
My heart skips, I feel mywhole face light up. “Of course, I’d love that.”
He gives me his arm as we step off the bus. Best bus journey of my life!
THE END
Alyssa Swan lives and writes in London, England.She enjoys creative pursuits and draws inspiration for her stories and novelsfrom those around her and closest to her heart. Some of her shortstories have been published in Shadow Fiction, Pill Hill Press and Oysters & Chocolate during 2011. Contact Alyssa.
