provocative storytelling experience
Monday through Friday, every morning, I wait in anticipation. To watch. To watch him. My favorite pastime between the hours of work, rest, and play. The bus stop at 55th and Main is where my day begins. Some mornings, I wish he'd look my way.
Just one glance. Just one glance will do... as he walks down the aisle to an empty seat. An empty seat. Always in front of me and never behind.
Though, most mornings, I'm glad. Glad I'm invisible. Glad he doesn't catch me watching. Wouldn't that be silly... to be caught watching? I'm glad. I'm glad I'm invisible. On most days, anyway.
As I watch, silently admiring the lines of his neck, the curvy ridges of his ear, the shape of his shoulders, I find myself wondering. What would his copper hair feel like between my fingers? Like silk ribbons? Like the down of birds?
I want to tell him, one day:
I like you.
Even though I don't know your name.
Even though we've never exchanged a word or a look.
I like you.
One day, I will tell him. One day... for sure.
Monday through Friday, every morning, I wake in anticipation. Five o'clock. My eyelids roll up like curtains to reveal a room. My room. Still dark. Still silent. Still black.
I'm lonely.
The echoes in my lingering dreams remind me: I'm lonely.
I know this. I know this very well. But, soon. Soon, I will have it fixed. A piece of bread, a cup of joe, and I'm out the door by six.
The bus stop at 55th and Main is where I wait every morning. Monday through Friday. For that one bus. As it slows, I catch sight of her in the window. The shape of her face. Suitable. The texture of her hair. An exact match. The dips in between her slim fingers. Ideal and faithful. And her skin... her milky white skin. Perfection. I like her skin very much.
She looks at me without seeing me.
I know this. I know this very well. But... I don't mind. As long as I can see her. Even without looking, I can see her... while hiding those words unspoken:
I want you.
Even though you don't see me.
Even though we're total strangers.
I want you.
Out of no where, it just happened. I don't know when it began. I just know... I just know those words:
I like you.
I like you.
I like you.
They have faded away, submerged in the deep fissures of broken scars. Scars threatening to resume euphoric bleeding at any given moment. Any moment now.
To be replaced. Exchanged for words akin to:
I love you.
As cliché as it may sound, I just know. That much, I know, is certain. Truly. Honestly.
You don't know me. But... but, I think I know you. I think I love you. No. Not think I love you. I know I love you. I know, for sure.
It's still difficult for me to understand how I know. But, at this point, does it matter? I've fallen.
Skipping my stop, I decide to wait. Wait for him to get off first. I want to know. I want to know where he gets off.
One stop. Two stop. Three stop. I'm crazy.
Four stop. Five stop. Six stop. What am I doing?
Seven stop. Eight stop. Nine stop. I should get to work... I should really get to work today...
And I get off at the tenth stop to catch a bus back. Back in time... before I like you became I love you.
To start again most faithfully.
Two o'clock in the morning and I awake to a battle of knives and heart beats... yet again. The drumming inside the walls... inside the ceiling... pressing down on me with manic cries in between.
I reach out a hand to turn on the light. Only to have it flicker, flicker, then die. I sit up and stare. Long and hard, I stare, at the darkness spread out before my eyes. Pass stained, crumpled sheets. Pass carcasses of old, dirty clothes. To a patch of blackness brooding on the wall. Dark. Darker than the rest.
I'm lonely.
Cold, feeble tears escape me.
I'm lonely.
Please... please...
The lump beside me grows. Crawling under the stained, crumpled sheets. Assuring me that this is no dream. This is no lie. A nudge. A simple nudge. Gentle and familiar.
I need you.
Silence resumes and I realize... I can no longer continue on like this. No. No, not anymore.
I'm running out of time. Time... time is running out for me.
I need you.
I find myself in the middle of morning rush hour. A throng of people. The Devil's Nest. Feet stepping on feet. Shoulders knocking into shoulders. Bodies pressing against bodies. No matter which way I turn, there's no way out. No way out.
I must be crazy... to miss my stop for this shit. I must be crazy.
I feel like a worn rag being tossed about like a play thing. To be shoved against one body to the next, to the next, to the next.
I can't breathe. I can't.
Not because of the walls of people closing in. Not because I'm afraid.
I can't breathe... because he is there right behind me.
The empty space between our bodies. Sensitive and electric.
Loud and clear, his heart beats rush through my veins. Should I turn around and tell him, at last? To say those words that have been burning in my throat:
I like you.
I love you.
I feel you.
I feel you... taking over me?
to be continued