Warning: The following story contains explicit violence, explicit sex, explicit violations of public transit regulations, elements of urban fantasy, blasphemy, assault and battery, intimidation, polyamory, mockery of the mentally ill, delusions of grandeur, delusions of paranoia, delusions of environmentally conscious behavior, fare evasion, harassment, public indecency, seduction, profanity, objectionable workplace conduct, public displays of affection and callous stereotyping of bus riders. All characters herein are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons is entirely coincidental, excepting those who are entirely representative of encounters and observations the author really has experienced on Seattle buses. All characters in this story are over 18, except for the pack of well-supervised children who leave before any of the real naughty business starts.
We join this relationship already in progress.
"I could've stopped the war. Could've ended it in '63 if goddamn MacNamara had just listened to me, if he'd just
listened
to me we never would've had the goddamn war and the fucking Rooskies would've fucking caved in '64 and I'd still be fucking Jane Fonda every fucking Tuesday..."
Alex looked up from his book at the man seated in front of him. He saw oily brown hair under a blue ballcap, a faded denim jacket and the man's large, trembling hands. The bus hit a bump, and the man snapped bitterly, "
Je
sus
Christ
!" and went back to muttering at his hands.
Ahead of him, in the front of the bus where seats lined the walls facing inward, a collection of mixed ethnicities and genders bantered playfully. Alex heard laughter and good spirits as the streetlights of Aurora Avenue flashed by. The man in front of him, his seat facing forward like Alex's, took part in none of it. He had a lot of harsh words for his own hands, though, all of them relating to politics fifty years past.
Alex felt proud of himself for recognizing the names and placing them properly. He'd aced his US history courses over the previous two quarters. There was no possible way, Alex decided, that this man was old enough to have had the ear of Robert McNamara or really anyone in government in the '60s. He turned his head back down to his book as the bus rolled on.
It hit another bump. "
Je
sus
Christ
!" the man snapped again.
Alex sighed and pulled out his iPhone. He figured he'd need to put his headphones in and crank up some music if he was to get any reading done on his trip home.
Then the bus rolled to a stop, and Alex found himself distracted yet again.
"Shut up shut up can't you people just
shut up
!?" She stood from her seat near the front of the bus, just ahead and across from the man muttering at his hands. She grabbed the overhead rail and pointed at everyone. Her brown hair had been washed and brushed; her beige overcoat looked clean, as did her dress. She seemed like someone who had a job and a family, and quite possibly did. She didn't look like one of the crazies at all.
Then again, the 358 picked up all kinds on its journey from north Seattle into downtown.
"Woah, hey, lady, can we just chill?" said one of the other women in the front seats. "It's Friday night. We're all getting' off work and stuff. We're in a good mood. What's wrong with that?"
"Yes! That's just it! That's the problem! You're all so
happy
! Everyone's
happy
!" sneered the woman in the off-white coat. Her accusing finger swept the air, pointing to most everyone around her. Alex made eye contact and regretted it, for now he, too, was included in her venomous accusations.
Alex had an awful lot to be happy about. He just couldn't tell anyone without sounding like one of the crazies... perhaps even the craziest. He supposed he could tell all the crazies about his good fortunes, but then, he didn't really want to talk to any of them at all. He just wanted to get home for the night.
His eyes drifted out the window to his right as the bus came to a stop. The crowd near the bus shelter of green metal and glass looked large enough to turn this into a standing-room-only ride. Alex saw suits and sports jerseys, trench coats and shopping bags... and even an umbrella or two, just to mark out the tourists.
Amid the waiting crowd, Alex saw a husky man in a Patriots jersey corner a slightly heavyset brunette against the bus shelter. The scene conveyed neither romance nor comfort, yet also no explicit threat. The Pats fan said something to her softly, urgently, over and over. She wouldn't look him in the eye. The streetlights were bright enough for Alex to recognize the sadness in her eyes.
She tried to move past him. He took her by both arms and pushed her against the shelter. She had a backpack and a gym bag. The Pats FanโAlex named him Pat in his heatโtried to take them from her, not forcefully but also refusing to let the bags go when she tugged back. She wouldn't look Pat in the eyes.
His body language presented him as a desperate, pleading lover. Her posture marked him as something very different.
"Ma'am, please take your seat or move to the back of the bus," called the middle-aged driver. She had a fairly commanding voice. "I've got people getting off and on."
"You're a drone!" retorted the woman in the beige coat. "You're just another drone! You only do what they tell you!"
"Back door!" called out passengers at the rear of the bus. "Open up the back door!"
"Yeah, lady, just sit down," urged another passenger at the front. "People gotta move. Quit spoiling the night."
"Don't any of you see? Don't any of you think with your own minds?" demanded the ranting woman with another wave of her finger.
"Last chance: sit down or get off!" ordered the driver. She looked as if she wanted to get out of her seat and take care of this herself. She, too, noticed the subtle struggle underway beside the shelter. "Miss, do you want to get on the bus?"
The woman looked up and nodded. "No, she doesn't!" said the stubble-faced Pats fan who blocked her path.
Alex looked to the rear. The back door remained open.