A Window Seat Driver

A Flash Fiction Piece chosen by the Longridge Writers Community, Connecticut

 

The rainy afternoon was now coming to an end. I was still in the yellow bus, which was jumping up and down on the road. I could hear frogs, or toads, I am not sure. But, I heard a voice in the squeaky wheels of the bus.

Just then, my friend, Ego called me. My phone vibrated and churned in my bag, while I desperately fished it out of the mess. Ego is a he. He has always been a he. I have always been changing choices, wanting to be a she and then a he and then a spider. But nothing changes.

He spoke some gibberish about a debate on Wednesday afternoon. We were always pitted against each other in these oratorical classes. However, we often won both ways. We played our favourite game: Parasite and Host.

Ego has always been my first love, because I was born with him. No, he is not a sibling. This would make us extremely incestuous. He is my lover. A lover who sits on tree tops and heckles at me, when I sit on the porch with a ligament torn in my right ankle.

I’d quietly watch his blue eyes, burning with victorious laughter. Once, he noticed me. His eyes blinded with tears and he cuddled into my palm. He slept there for hours, cherishing dusk, clouds, stars, and night. I slept with him.

We all own a kind of him. His species is peculiar, unique and mine. Suddenly, he squiggled awake and started on his morning run. Faster than ever, it hurt my thighs and arms. I tried to hold him back. But he sprouted wings. He attempted to fly out my hand. These ferocious wings have only hit me when he has needed, wanted, and yearned love. The love he got from Pride.

The phone started hurting my neck. Only if he knew that I loved him. I was hoping too much. His gibberish continued and joined the squeaky wheel-voice, the pitter-patter, the croaking and that queer swiveling spring in my head, which was spacing out.