Chapter One

This isn't finished and I'm actually writing a different story at the moment...hopefull I'll come back to this one...

 

Bus 724

Chapter One

 

            Chilled and stinging raindrops hit my exposed face. I had quit using my newspaper shield due to my sullen mood and now sat, vulnerable, on the bus stop bench. The bus was running late again and in the past couple minutes I had shifted my head up and down the barren streets that bus 724 was supposed to be traveling on. During my constant glances I noticed a quiet stranger sitting on the opposite side of my bench. He wore a forest green raincoat and the bottom was speckled with what I assumed was mud. A black leather briefcase was perched between the soles of his mud splattered hiking boots. The leather was a bit worn and discoloured at the corners, probably due many years of mild use. His hood was pulled up tightly around his head so I couldn’t properly steal a peek at his face. In turn, I resorted to studying his body language. Even through his rain jacket and hidden layers I could see the stiffness in his posture. His back was strangely pressed tightly to the back of the wooden bench. His legs were bent at a ninety degree angle and sat square with his broad shoulders. It was this stance that hinted to me how uncomfortable he was. Throughout my assessment I began to wonder where he’s going. Could he possibly be awaiting the arrival of bus 724 as I am?

            I avert my gaze before he becomes aware of that feeling as if somebody were looking over his shoulder. I turned my head straight forward and focused on the road, obviously in an unnatural way. However, I couldn’t concentrate on the dull grey of 4^th street and I found myself trying to make out his silhouette in my peripheral vision. I was suddenly startled by bus 724 pulling noisily to the side of the street. Its tires roll through the muddy water beside the curb at my feet, creating a severe disturbance in the once lifeless puddle. I watch the ripples crash against the curb, in order to prevent myself from looking at the stranger one last time. I begin boarding the bus while listening intently for his footsteps following me up the stairs. However, I couldn’t seem to pick out any sound at all. Once boarded, I don’t study any of the passengers, which is unlike me, and I quickly pick out an empty window seat on the left. My sleeve serves as an adequate wiper to eliminate the precipitation that has collected on the inside of the window. I clear away a small opening in the fog, just large enough to clearly see the stranger. He sat exactly as I had left him, hood constricting his appearance and brief case still sitting between his feet. What was it about this man that had me so captivated? I kept my eyes glued on him as the bus began pulling away. I didn’t want to tear myself away from the mystery on the bust stop bench. Even as he began disappearing from my view I kept my face pressed to the window, straining to etch him into my mind. His silhouette began diminishing in size and soon enough the stranger had fully disintegrated in the haze of rain and city fumes. In all my years of riding bus 724 and sitting on that very bench I had never seen this man before. The left half of my face was beginning to go numb from the window and I gave up my attempt at memorization. I turn forward to face the bus’s enlarged windows and the blurred city scene that passes by. Even with the surrounding distractions; crying babies, sneezing, humming; I still couldn’t forget the mysterious stranger. I shouldn’t be dwelling on this man so much, why would I in the fist place. I close my eyes in hope of forgetting the mysterious man and making the hour long bus ride shorter than the inevitable.

 

              The screeching halt of the bus jerks me awake and after a glance out of my window I quickly realize that I’ve reached my stop. It quit raining, but the sidewalk is still damp and grey, contrasting with the surrounding saturated grass. I hoist myself out of the seat, drop my fare into the bucket, and step out casually into the dreary day. It’s cloudy, but still warm enough to walk the couple blocks back to my apartment. I begin walking towards my residence, gravel crunching noisily beneath the soles of my imitated Armani shoes. The surrounding atmosphere is heavy, full of precipitation, which causes my suit to make me itch. It feels as if my suit is astringing my limbs. As if the condensation brought life into it and now it is taking revenge upon its wearer. I give a slight shudder at the thought but regain composure and dismiss it. In turn, I concentrate on the sidewalk to take my mind off of my vengeful suit. It wasn’t until a block later that I began to notice that the surrounding sounds have become louder.

The wind screeches in my ears and the gravel beneath my feet growls and snarls with each step. I whistle a crude version of Habanera to tune out the encompassing noise. However, even the catchy chorus can’t drown the violence around me. I can feel a cold sweat collect on my forehead and upper lip. I taste salty droplets of perspiration as they slide down my face and slip between my chapped lips. My feet pick up pace and the gravels’ guttural growls pick up intensity and volume. The racket is overwhelming and panic, like the sweat on my forehead, begins to set in. My heart flutters and thumps underneath my heaving rib cage. Breathing becomes difficult, struggling to catch each breath which dries my hot and burning throat. The crude snarls reverberate through my ears, ever growing in magnitude. I can’t hear my own thoughts and my anxiety has reached a new high, clouding around the edges of my vision; blocking all sorts of rational thinking. I begin running blinding along the sidewalk, tightly cupping my hands around my ears at an attempt to cease the sound waves.

Miraculously, through my sightless amble, I reach my building, and without reason, the violent sounds abruptly stop. An eerie silence creeps in where it was once absent. I look around nervously, as if expecting an ambush of sorts. Still feeling uneasy, I instinctually reach into my right hip pocket, where I knew my keys would be located. My fingers wrap repeatedly around the cotton lining of my empty pocket. I swear I put my keys here when I left the office. Eyebrows furrowed, I reach into my left hip pocket and again all I grasp is the simple cotton lining of a vacant pocket. I perform the normal human instinct, when an item is lost, and begin patting my back pockets while simultaneously turning in circles and looking around my feet. I come up empty handed. I try searching my jacket. The left pocket is empty as is the right; excluding a penny and leftover lint. Closing my eyes and grinding my teeth, I begin the same process over again with the right hip pocket; the one that usually contains my damnable keys. Heart full of hope I begin reaching into the pocket. Just as my digits touch it’s lining a shallow jingle snakes its way into my eardrums. Pure confusion plants itself directly on my face and I revisit the last five minutes of key searching. I had checked this pocket and know that it was empty. My keys couldn’t have just appeared out of lint. I shake my head in surrender and pull out my keys, aiming them for the lock of my door.

I thrust the tarnished skeleton key into the lock and turn. I hear a faint click and open my door. The smell of lavender and tranquility waft up my nostrils and I instinctively let out a sigh of relaxation; forgetting the previous events. I slowly shed my coat, hang it up on the nearby coat rack, and set my keys on the table beside a bowl of fresh fruit. Maria must have replaced them this afternoon because when I left I swear I had seen a black spot on the tangerine. Her voice lifts my eyes from their tangerine trance.

“Hey honey, how was work?” She was watching Lifetime on our new black leather couch. It was this same couch that I had paid for, but oddly never got to relax on. I pause before answering, studying her image, position, and my jealously.

“It was fine,” I reply, lies dripping off my every word. I didn’t want her to fret over my day when she apparently had so many other tasks to fuss over. Luckily, she didn’t catch on to my forgery and I excuse myself to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. As the water runs I can still hear her mumbling about her day, but I don’t tune in. Instead, I drop out and concentrate on my steadily filling glass. The crystalline water splashes and froths in my cup, reminding me of champagne. What I would kill to get a glass of the bubbly at the moment. That thought causes me to reflect back to our over-priced and over-stressed wedding day, about four years ago. Even through all the stress and bustle of that day she still looked extraordinary. I remember standing at the altar, her white simple satin dress, devoid of extra designs and knick knacks, clinging to every curve. Her full green eyes were locked on mine for the vows without a hint of uneasiness. Her hair hung in loose ringlets around her long and delicate neck; I was amazed that given the day her hair stayed so perfectly in place. That smile, which I still remember like yesterday, beamed with delight. In fact, throughout the whole night it beamed, broadcasting her happiness for the others around her to take in and be part of. That very smile still broadcasts itself and being the hopeless romantic that I am, I still melt every time my eyes meet it.

Quietly, she waltzes into the kitchen and hugs me around my waist. I can hear her syrupy laugh echo through my ears and I can’t help the smile that cracks across my face. I turn to face her. Her grin meets my gaze and instantly my knees go weak. I lean down and kiss her softly on the cheek, deeply inhaling the scent of her vanilla shampoo.

“I’ve made dinner, I just have to heat it up,” she says and begins making her way over to the oven. “How do you like chicken and rice?”

“Wonderful,” I reply, ecstatically; just her presence lifts my mood. Even if she were to serve me a heaping bowl of mud I would still gobble it down, enjoying every spoonful she had slaved over. I realize now is the perfect opportunity to finally give the couch a try. Quietly, I sneak out of the kitchen and into our diligently decorated living room. I kick off my shoes on the way and then fall onto the cold doughy cushions. As I sink into them my spine finally relaxes after a long day and I can feel it pop and stretch. I let out a long and deep sigh, proclaiming my ultimate relaxation and ease.

Author's Note

I know it isn't quite finished. Any grammatical problems?
Should I keep truckin along with it...is it good enough?

Reviews

[Karan Modi]

An engrossing start to the story indeed. I'm sure you must have come up with several other chapters by now. Would love to read what happens next. Great Going.

[Andromeda]

very intruiging. my one piece of advice: watch your tenses, be sure you always use the past tense

[Steffi]

I think you should keep going with it!
Your flow and description and word choice were amazing i feel
Really good write and i want to read more