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Stop Requested |
| Written by Bliz Reckless | |
| Wednesday, 09 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      I was sitting next to a man standing on the bus. He had a large smelly pack on his back. The bulging hump swelled from his spine like a horrendous brown boil and was tied up with old rope to keep it form belching out its contents in a life ending sigh. From the pack was tied a smaller satchel that oblivious to him, swayed back and forth with the uneven rhythm of the bus. Thump. thump… thump. It was hitting me in the face. I said “Excuse me sir, your auxiliary satchel is obscuring my view of the ride home, would you mind containing it?” For a second he didn’t realize I was talking to him, but he turned his head back kind of halfway and saw that I was looking at him. A fire started in his eyes and he suddenly turned around fast, his big humped back smacked two nice ladies in the head “My what, you son of a *****?” He said holding two seat backs and leaning forward like a drunken pirate. “Ah, nothing. I was practicing lines.” The man looked at me blankly for a moment. “What?” “Rehearsing, for the, movie.” I was able to get out. He looked at me for another moment, said nothing and then turned back around at once, hitting again those two nice ladies who produced three four letter words in quick succession. I was again breathing on his bag of dirty undies and empty aluminum cans, or god knows what he had in there. That’s fine I said to myself, I’m not bothered. The bus was stopped in traffic and we were jammed in there like crab in a stuffed mushroom. Several people were pretending to talk on their cell phones so that they would have an excuse not to talk to the person next to them. It’s the new reading. My stop came at last. Transfer, and another bus. This one worse than before. Bus number two. Near the back there is a triage of smells that makes my eyes swim laps inside my skull: Someone hasn’t showered in about three days, and it’s been hot for three days. A sick artificially sweet spearmint gum is being punished hard, masticated audibly. Thirdly, a McDonald’s chemical Crisco smell-cloud is rolling heavily and slow, like the blood it’s owner. I can’t breath in or I’ll vomit. This fourth smell would no doubt trigger the gag reflexes of the people within my blasting area and they would all go off in a vomit spattering pip-pop, like pop corn popping. Spurt spurt spurt and OH MY GAWD! Spurt spurt spurt from all the way in the back, way up to the bending bus front and the horrified driver, like a string of firecrackers, one after another spurt spurt spurt. Hands would go up to cover mouths in useless attempts to keep form going off but inevitably lunch sprays through their fingers and peppers the person standing almost on their toes. In the end, we all pitch in and speckle our shoes and everyone gets off at the next stop. Hold on to those rails a little tighter so you don’t slip getting off. Lucky for us all however none of this happens because I held it together, kept it in. STOP REQUESTED I felt myself numb a little as I stared at a patch of pavement through the jumble of people. Soon the ambient shuffle of traffic outside and the inner hum of travelers home started to blend into one another. My mind pulled the cord that rang the bell that lighted the light “STOP REQUESTED”. Oh, we’re already stopped. I leave the bus by a vent in the roof and snake up through the electric wires. Sparks skitter off my heals as I clip a thick cable and rise into the cold shadow of the freeway overpass. A swift duck and a gentle push off and I clear the freeway and its steady undulation. I rise up farther still. I see the not so distant city that I just left, raving with industry. A massive smoggy blob with black eyes is towering over the city, almost silhouetted against an ochre sky. Dark clouds roll off its iridescent back. Cars and trucks are are skewered 10 or 20 deep on each of its dozen tendril legs. It throws a shadow over the city that is airless. Then I see the city for what it is again and there is no cloud of death ushering in our repentance, or hearing so many unsolicited confessions for what’s wrong. Which means a lot of confessions. It’s just the city. Just the city and its weight. I wonder where are the cliffs that drop as far as the buildings rise, the cliffs that descend into mist and then savage rock freckled waves? Where are the bulldozers that will finally push us and all of our crappy useless junk over the edge and into the sea? Where is our rest? The bus slams on the breaks to avoid hitting a biker and everyone is thrown forward. I snap awake. 12th and 73rd. My stop. I rejoin my body to my head, blink the screws into place, wipe away the drool, swipe my fare card and step out into the sunny Tuesday afternoon. As the bus pulls away I can breath again. It’s a short walk from the bus stop to my front porch, but in that short distance many things could still happen. I could find a hundred dollar bill or an expensive ring. I could have a life changing revelation or hear a ringing tone in one ear. I could see a cloud that reminded me of something and while watching the sky I could be struck by a car and instantaneously killed... Or, I could arrive home safe and on time without instance, which is what happened on this day. That’s what happened everyday actually. And as usual, when I arrived home I was relieved to learn that once again my home had not been broken into, and I had not been robbed. That’s good news I thought, turning on my computer and opening the story. Now, where was I… Copyright 2008 Bliz Reckless |
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