I rushed down the hallway through my apartment, my briefcase fiercely bashing against the narrow walls. It was the third time this week that my alarm clock had failed me. I bashed through the screen door nearly reducing it to splinters. I didn’t have a car, so I had to make it to the bus stop. I ignored the honking horns stuck in morning traffic. And plotted myself on the poorly architected and uncomfortable bench. I let out a sigh of relief and victory. I peered into the window of a neighboring car, the glutton man stuffed himself with a poorly assembled Mc’donalds meal.
Something caught my eye from across the street, a man with a large grey backpack with a scared look in his eye. Suddenly he dashed, weaving in and out of the slow traffic, his ineptitude was quite evident from the way he ran, his shoulders thrusting back and forth, back and forth. I felt my hands gripping the edges of the bench, worried for his safety. Finally he reached the sidewalk, collapsing beside me on the bench.
“Wow, you’re quite brave.” I said to him staring at the squalid ground beneath me.
“Yeah, either brave or vacuous.” He panted back to me.
We continued sitting for quite a while, in the same position not moving, not talking. He took his backpack and tossed it on the ground, rummaging through it. He pulled out a paper and pen, and began to write on it. Not knowing if it was personal I looked up at the leaden sky, which was the exact shade of his backpack.
I let out a deep sigh, and lowered my head in histrionics, I didn’t know if I was lonely or just wanted attention, but for some reason I was sad. He continued writing on his paper trying his best to ignore me. Finally the bus pulled up letting out a great squeak as it opened it’s rusted doors. I raised my head and walked onto the bus paying my daily venerates to the driver. I continued down the tight isle that reminded me of my apartment, and took a seat next to an old worn out woman. We didn’t speak or make eye contact, although I made a deep effort to prevent from touching her on the bumpy road.
Late
Once again the same ineptitude man caught my eye, but this time from across the isle. He was struggling to take his seat because of the size of his backpack. Unexpectedly the bus slide to a halt, luckily thanks to my parents whipping me when I was a boy for not wearing a seat belt, I had one on today. Of course the man flew over the seat he was in front of and crashed against the drivers seat. The driver was thrown forward cracking his head on the wheel.
We had been hit on the side by a small orange Volkswagen, my head was spinning in fear and excitement. I hesitated on what to do, but wanted to finally be a hero and hopped out of my seat and rushed down the isle. The driver was unconscious and limp in his chair. I decided to rush to the side of the man with the backpack behind the driver seat. He seemed all right, his pupils covering the white of his eyes. He was bleeding on his arm, and the contents of his backpack were strewn all over the bus.
I felt nauseous from the sight of blood, I sat down and put my head against the cushioned seat. And waited, waited for another hero.