The lights in the bus
flicker on and off
like they are shorting out
as the bus cruises
down
the dark
night streets.
It’s late
I’m tired
and I don’t recall
even getting on
the bus.
The passengers look
old –
not so much age-wise
as outdated
somehow.
I am in the seat
just past
the rear exit.
So I am
almost
face to face
with a man
who looks
cool – in a retro biker kind of way -
in leather biker jacket
(with colors!)
denim shirt,
leather pants
long
wavy hair
and bushy
goatee
mustache.
“You wanted
to be me…
didn’t you?
But you didn’t think
you were cool
enough,”
he said
and abruptly
stepped off the bus.
I chuckled
to myself
at the odd
one-sided
exchange.
Before I could
give it
a second thought
a woman
was at the door.
Attractive
older
familiar.
Wicked Irish looks,
with thick red hair,
mischievous smile
and
Killer legs
stretching
from her skirt
to her heels.
I know her
from somewhere,
I thought.
Her eyes piercing
as they trained
on mine –
but they
still… looked…
distant.
“You always
Looked at me
Like you wanted me…
I was your
dream girl…”
her voice
almost
sang
the words.
“I was
the best parts
of them all…
All the time.”
The bus stopped
and she was gone.
What the fuck
is going on
here?
I thought.
I must
be
dreaming!
I didn’t want to
look at anyone
so I looked out
the window.
I needed to see
where I was and
where I was going.
But all I could see
outside
was dark.
I felt confused.
I was not in control,
and I
especially
hated
that feeling.
The almost sickening
musty smell,
like old dirty
car cloth
upholstery,
was lingering
heavy
in the air.
Five soldiers
were huddled
in the back
seat.
A scared looking kid
was sitting
in the middle
of the pack.
All tired and
dirty
faces -
like they were all
just back
from battle.
But their uniforms
all looked
so
different.
Like different era
combat fatigues.
World War I
World War II
Korea, Vietnam…
The kid in the middle
was wearing a
Gulf War uniform.
Must have been
a party, I thought,
and looked back
out the window.
“You won’t see much
out there…
not yet,”
said a man
on a seat
nearby.
His skin looked
almost glossy
as it stretched
snugly
on his skull.
The woman
with him –
who looked
about the same
nodded her head
as she chain smoked
cigarette after
cigarette.
I couldn’t look away
right away
and was startled
when I did
to see a man
with long hair
and dark complexion
and what looked like
fresh blood
red and
sticky
on his hands.
“Who are you?”
I asked
(And I
don’t know
why I asked –
he scared me!)
“You could have
saved me,”
he wispered.
“When? How? From what?”
I asked.
“I’ve been right here…
What happened? Are you alright?”
I was getting a little pissed
and extremely
uncomfortable.
“When you had the chance…
all you had to do
was act.
You only needed
to believe you could…
and then do it,”
the man said,
in a soft, barely audible
voice.
This is too
weird
I thought
as the man
flashed a gentle smile
as he
stepped off the bus.
They must
think
i’m someone else.
When I looked over
at the nearby couple
they were gone,
moved to a seat
near the front.
The people riding
the bus
were looking
back at me.
“I am not
the person
you think I am,”
I said.
At the next flicker
of light
they were looking
away…
except
the chain smoking
woman
who just shook
her head.
“I’m not,”
I said, quietly
rocking
to the steady
jerking
movement
of the bus.
I stared
at my hands
clenched
on the railing
in front of me.
I glanced over
to see the couple -
who I now
know
somehow
are older –
sitting nearby
again.
The woman leans
over probably to
get a better
look.
Still smoking
shaking her head.
“Do you think
you maybe
blame us
a little too much?”
The man asked.
“How could I?”
I answered.
“I don’t blame you.
I don’t.
I don’t know what
is happening.
Do you?
Where am I?
When did I get here?”
I finish
but they are gone.
back to the front.
But I didn’t
see them
move.
I could not contain
my emotions.
I felt the knot
in my stomach -
The lump
in my throat -
The tears
on my face.
“I don’t know either,”
the young soldier
in the middle of the pack
said.
I looked back
to see
if he was
talking to me.
But his friends
were patting his
shoulder,
embracing him,
telling him
it was OK.
Between flickers
of light
it looked
as though
blood would
occasionally
wash over
the crew –
showing up
on their hands
faces and uniforms.
The toughness
they showed
with the uniforms
and dirt
and worn looks
was countered
by the fact
that they were
only
kids – young men actually
of 18, 19 or 20,
themselves.
“It’s OK,”
a young girl
of about nine or ten,
sitting next to me
said.
“It’s OK…
really.”
“When did you
sit down here?”
I asked.
“Oh,
I’ve always
been here,”
she said.
“I’ve been here
the whole time!”
She looked
Normal.
Not like the rest.
Very calming.
“Do I know you?”
I asked.
“I’ve always wanted
to get to know
you!”
She said,
taking my hand, with a big smile.
I whispered to her,
“What is happening?
Am I like dreaming?
Am I dead?
I don’t know
how I got here,”
I started to talk,
but she put
her fingers
on my mouth
to stop me
from talking.
“Those things
are not important
any more…
Shhhhhhhh,”
She said.
“Let’s take a bus ride!”
I look forward
trying to focus
on where I was –
and wondering
why – or if –
this little girl
would be traveling
alone
when
between flashes of light
I noticed
the bus driver’s
reflection
in the mirror
starring back
at me.
“Where am I?”
I asked.
“On my bus,” he said.
No shit!
I thought.
“But where are we?
How did I get here?
When…”
He interrupted,
“You never saw me coming,”
he chuckled.
“Coming from where?”
I asked,
but he looked away,
into the dark,
black
front windshield.
I noticed a cat
curled up
on a seat
nearby.
It has probably
been sleeping
the whole time,
I thought,
but looked over
again
to see
it staring back at me.
No matter
what…
Cats are
always
the same.
Bit I somehow
expected
this one
to start
talking.
“Cat’s can’t talk, Daddy,”
the little girl
said.
“But I didn’t
say that…
out loud,”
I said.
“Our stop is next, daddy.
You are ready
to get off now,”
the little girl said.
“We’re getting off
here, son,”
the man said,
as he and the
chain smoking
woman
stood at the door.
“Please tell me…
what’s going on?”
I asked,
exhaughsted,
almost in a
defeated wisper.
“We’re at Bauer Park.
One of your favorite
places
in the world,”
the woman said.
“OK – so you are my parents -
my long dead parents –
and you,”
I looked at the little girl
“Sara?”
She smiled.
“But you took
only one breath
when you were
born…
and then
you were gone.
Is it you?”
She just smiled,
and seemed excited
that I recognized her.
“OK Daddy,
show me your’s and mom’s garden,
and the covered bridge,
and the stream…
Show me
why you love this place.
Come on…”
She had my hand
and pulled me
gently
from the
flickering darkness
of the bus
to the light
of the garden.
“Can they come?”
I asked,
motioning towards
the soldiers.
“They will be off
soon.
They will
visit us later,”
Sara said.
“And you mom,
still smoking?
even here?”
“Don’t start,” she said.
Well, why not? Kelly found this at a street fair in Providence, Rhode Island, about 24 years ago. It is still a classis and one of my favorite pieces of art that we own (and, just to be clear, we really don't own shit - just the stuff we like - like this!)
The Anchor Bar in downtown New Haven is the kind of place where you feel like you should go and review your notes for your novel or plot a revolution or something. I belonged to a writers group once and we met at the Anchor a few times and it actually felt inspirational. In fact, each one of us were writing stories set in different times (within a 50 year range) and each agreed to include a brief scene in the Anchor, which could include the other storie's characters if we wanted - it was up to the writer. I think the only rule was you couldn't kill another character in the story (which really would have been a huge departure for all of the stories we were writing!) I was actually thinking briefly that my character should have a brief fling in the bar with a character from another book, but that would have changed my book drastically (and would have been waaaaay out of character). Oh well, it was a thought. Check out the Anchor if you are ever in town.
How do you make a good book great?