She wasn't anything special. Limp, dark hair framed an ordinary, thin, somewhat pale face. A quiet angel among a choir of sparkling lights and pulsating darknesses; a woman on the bus.

"You married," she said kind of quietly. Almost shy, but looking right into my eyes. I nodded and turned back to the softly rattling floor. "I was married," she said. I looked down but could see her watching me, waiting for me to say what I was supposed to say. But I just wanted to be alone: moody, I guess.

"He left me," she said, after the pause. I nodded. I looked at the empty seat two rows up and thought of moving, but I'm not that rude. "Contrary to what my lover thinks," I said wordlessly to myself. And smirked.

"It's not that funny," she said plainly. I blinked, startled, and looked at her. Did she hear me thinking? "Well, he sent me away, actually," she said.

"Oh? Why's that?" I asked, feigning interest. "He said I didn't understand love," she whispered, leaning towards me. "He said that I didn't understand love."

"Was he right?" I asked, then a second later I burned red on my face: what a stupid thing to say to a complete stranger!

"You're wearing a ring," she said. "My love said only in absence will I understand love."

Of course I nodded meaningfully and looked back at the floor. It was all I could do to keep from stroking my chin "thoughtfully."

The bus lurched, then stopped roughly. A few people passed, left, a few climbed on, filed to their seats as if they were meant for this moment. As if they knew exactly where to sit and how to stare out the window. I ached for her to go. She leaned back in her seat, she pulled her small black purse in front of her and crossed her arms around it, hugging herself, staring at me. The bus lurched again, and we rocked, like two dancers moving clumsily together for the first time.

"He was right," she said, her voice low, almost melancholy. I said, "I live with my lover. We're rarely apart."

"You look sad," she said quickly. I gave her a disinterested look. I didn't want her to know too much. I said, shrugging, "we were arguing this morning. It happens." She nodded slowly. I thought that she should stroke her chin, as if she were thinking. But she wasn't faking it.

"You are apart now. Like me and my love," she said. "You're lucky, though."

"What, because I got in a fight with my lover?" I said smirking, or maybe grimacing. I had the word "crazy" ready on my lips. I could feel my skin warm up, the blood pushing through me. I could fight someone else if I had to. Hell, it might be good. Why be angry with my lover and not other people?

"You can feel the sadness of being alone. You don't admit it now; you'd rather hate than feel sorry. But you'll remember what you really feel, and you'll be together again. And you'll feel the fresh air, the breeze, like a little bird just breaking its shell for the first time."

We looked at each other. A few seconds, a few seconds more. Finally, I blinked. "And you? You'll never know love again?" I asked, almost quietly, though not on purpose, as if suddenly it was just hard to speak.

"Who knows? My love, I know, is my only love. Maybe someday he'll let me come home." She wasn't dramatic, she wasn't sad. It was just a fact. She knew the facts, and she wasn't afraid of them. "But now," she said, and her eyes lit up like they hadn't before. She even smiled a little. "Now, I know love. And, I can show it to anyone I want. And that is really the whole point."

The bus lurched, and we rocked again, and it stopped again. This time it was my turn to leave. Wordlessly, stiff and uncomfortable somehow, I stood with the others, I stepped slowly along, and I went down those steps with the caked dirt on the ridges and the gum wrappers and bits of newspaper. I stopped outside and the bus lurched behind me, rattling.

At the last minute, the very last minute, I turned to look at her thorough the scratched, plastic paned windows. I turned to watch her ride away, but she was gone. I could swear she was gone.

I stared at the bus until it rounded the corner several blocks away. And then I didn't know what to do. The city wind calmly blew the sewer smells and car sounds and the people milling by checked their watches, glanced around, crossed the street and on this corner, no one in the world knew me.

I smiled suddenly, and thought, maybe I should call home.


--Arley Sorg

Freedom | La Journee | Megaphone Blues | Milestones