Monday, July 10, 2006
a short story
Bus
She was on a bus. The diesel throb, the jolting movement, the feeling of the glass against her cheek, the crick in her neck, the sobbing of someone behind her, the diesel throb- had she thought that already? She was having trouble thinking again.
For a minute she sat without moving, then she cautiously moved her head and opened her eyes. The twinge through her neck and the bright red in her vision were the same thing. She turned to watch the vivid colour out of sight, realising slowly that it was a car outside. There were more of them, more patches of colour, in and out of her sight in a glorious painful muddle. Too fast to count; gardens with red and blue and green, people with huge umbrellas, shining colours, and the blink of orange as the bus drew up at the round bright circle that was the traffic light. Indicators. She was pleased to identify the orange blinks, watched them move in curves ahead of her.
As the engine became louder and she was pushed against the cold window again, she found the vista too much to understand; colours, shapes, movement. She turned her head to look at the stillness of the bus interior. The sobbing continued.
It was a double–decker; there were stairs going out of sight, a luggage rack opposite with a box for free newspapers. She suddenly wanted one, no, she needed one. Maybe something exciting had happened. With something to read she would be all right… but the box was empty. Fighting back panic she stood up, looked round; was there one on the seats, or on the floor? She caught the eye of a man sitting behind the stairway. He was watching her, and she frowned at him. Did she know him? She thought not. He was young, heavily built, scruffily dressed, and she didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She looked away, around, behind her.
There were no papers. None. The bus rolled on, bumping her against the seat. She had nothing with her; And the diesel throb… She fought her way to a decision. She would get off the bus and get a paper. Then she would catch another bus, without the man on it, and go where-ever she was going. Her mind slid away from the thought of her destination. A paper, that’s what she needed.
The bus had no buttons to press. Not on the handholds, not on the sides of the seats, not running along the roof. How could she get off if she didn’t press a button? The panic rose up again. No buttons. Diesel engine, no buttons. Not a red one, not a green one, not a blue one. Not a red one, not a green one, not a blue one. Not a red one….
The bus started to brake and she was pushed forward against the bar of the seat in front. The song of colours was broken. She started down the aisle to the driver’s window and the exit.
Another man appeared. He must have been standing in the stairway. Blue uniform, peaked hat. A conductor. He blocked the aisle.
She opened her mouth to tell the conductor that she wanted to get off but no sound emerged. The conductor shook his head. The bus stopped braking and started up again. The conductor looked stern, and completely uncomprehending. She couldn’t push her way past him. She looked round and the man by the stairs was grinning at her.
Head spinning, she staggered back into her seat. The sobbing behind her had stopped. The bus was still moving. If she looked up she could see the man. If she looked out of the window the colours and shapes hurt her eyes. She had nothing to read. She gazed at her fingers, twisting and untwisting them. Were they really part of her? They looked so odd, so fascinating. Twist and untwist. Time passed. The bus moved. The engine ground, faster then slower, idling then starting again. The doors never opened.
It became dark. If she glanced out of the window now she could see only the reflection of the lit bus around her, the man still staring, the other passengers vague and unreal. Looking in or out was the same. Her thoughts were almost completely fragmented now. She forced her fingers into the gap between the seat in front and the side and the discomfort was something to hold on to.
The conductor was back. He wanted her to get up, to move back. The glass partition between the front and back of the bus (Smoking, she thought in a moment of clarity. For smoking at the back. Long ago) had turned opaque. Behind it the seats had been replaced by narrow austere beds. On the nearest one her own nightdress was laid out, on top of the flat pillow. She picked it up, running her fingers through the fabric, amazed that this part of her was here. The conductor, who she now saw was a woman, indicated that she should change and get into bed.
There were two other women, younger than her. They were changing into nightwear, desperate not to look at each other. She looked behind her and through the aisle gap in the compartment could see a man pulling down his trousers. His underwear bulged unevenly; she looked away in embarrassment. She didn’t want to undress here, in front of these strange women, so close to these strange men. She wanted a paper. She wanted her own bed. But the conductress was insistent, raking her arms as she pulled her top off , pushing her nightdress over her head. She jerked away, and finished undressing herself.
She wanted to climb into bed, to hide, but the sheets were tucked tight across the mattress. She pulled and pulled at them, eventually yanking one side out completely. There was a thin blanket on top and nothing more. She huddled as well as she could under the covers.
She didn’t want to close her eyes, not in this place, but the conductress had other ideas. After watching the youngest girl being force fed a tablet- it had been her sobbing before, the sound was unmistakable- she took the round, pink pill without protest. Within seconds her eyes were dragged shut and the engine lulled heragainst her will into dreamless sleep.
When she woke, she didn’t know where she was. There was an engine sound, there was movement, but she was lying down with a pillow under her head. For a moment she thought she was on a boat. On holiday. Holiday must be good. So why did she feel so awful?
She opened her eyes. There was a painted metal roof, and on one side there were peeling advertisments. She was still puzzled until she saw the silver rail stretching up to the roof. A bus handhold- she could almost feel the sensation of holding it as the bus rocked.
Her covers had come completely loose in the night; the blanket and sheet were on the floor. Her nightdress was rucked up around her waist; she hurriedly wriggled it down to her knees. She felt uncomfortable, and her mattress was damp; in embarrassment she thought that she must have wet the bed in the night. She rolled onto her side away from the damp patch and looked through the aisle gap towards the front of the bus. The beds had turned back into seats, the man was standing there, fully dressed, halfway along the aisle, looking at her. When she saw his face she rolled back over, heedless of the state of the mattress, pulled her pillow into her chest and cried until she slept again.
The bus carried on. Time passed. Things changed. Eventually she could look out of the window and see only things; not shapes, not colours. She could look at her hands and see only hands. She didn’t want a paper; she had no interest in what was going on. She no longer noticed the man. She took her tablet every night without fail and in her world nothing ever happened until she woke again. And one day the bus stopped and she tentatively stepped off. This wasn't the destination she'd had in mind, but at least she had arrived somewhere.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/uklatest/story/0,,-5941410,00.html
She was on a bus. The diesel throb, the jolting movement, the feeling of the glass against her cheek, the crick in her neck, the sobbing of someone behind her, the diesel throb- had she thought that already? She was having trouble thinking again.
For a minute she sat without moving, then she cautiously moved her head and opened her eyes. The twinge through her neck and the bright red in her vision were the same thing. She turned to watch the vivid colour out of sight, realising slowly that it was a car outside. There were more of them, more patches of colour, in and out of her sight in a glorious painful muddle. Too fast to count; gardens with red and blue and green, people with huge umbrellas, shining colours, and the blink of orange as the bus drew up at the round bright circle that was the traffic light. Indicators. She was pleased to identify the orange blinks, watched them move in curves ahead of her.
As the engine became louder and she was pushed against the cold window again, she found the vista too much to understand; colours, shapes, movement. She turned her head to look at the stillness of the bus interior. The sobbing continued.
It was a double–decker; there were stairs going out of sight, a luggage rack opposite with a box for free newspapers. She suddenly wanted one, no, she needed one. Maybe something exciting had happened. With something to read she would be all right… but the box was empty. Fighting back panic she stood up, looked round; was there one on the seats, or on the floor? She caught the eye of a man sitting behind the stairway. He was watching her, and she frowned at him. Did she know him? She thought not. He was young, heavily built, scruffily dressed, and she didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She looked away, around, behind her.
There were no papers. None. The bus rolled on, bumping her against the seat. She had nothing with her; And the diesel throb… She fought her way to a decision. She would get off the bus and get a paper. Then she would catch another bus, without the man on it, and go where-ever she was going. Her mind slid away from the thought of her destination. A paper, that’s what she needed.
The bus had no buttons to press. Not on the handholds, not on the sides of the seats, not running along the roof. How could she get off if she didn’t press a button? The panic rose up again. No buttons. Diesel engine, no buttons. Not a red one, not a green one, not a blue one. Not a red one, not a green one, not a blue one. Not a red one….
The bus started to brake and she was pushed forward against the bar of the seat in front. The song of colours was broken. She started down the aisle to the driver’s window and the exit.
Another man appeared. He must have been standing in the stairway. Blue uniform, peaked hat. A conductor. He blocked the aisle.
She opened her mouth to tell the conductor that she wanted to get off but no sound emerged. The conductor shook his head. The bus stopped braking and started up again. The conductor looked stern, and completely uncomprehending. She couldn’t push her way past him. She looked round and the man by the stairs was grinning at her.
Head spinning, she staggered back into her seat. The sobbing behind her had stopped. The bus was still moving. If she looked up she could see the man. If she looked out of the window the colours and shapes hurt her eyes. She had nothing to read. She gazed at her fingers, twisting and untwisting them. Were they really part of her? They looked so odd, so fascinating. Twist and untwist. Time passed. The bus moved. The engine ground, faster then slower, idling then starting again. The doors never opened.
It became dark. If she glanced out of the window now she could see only the reflection of the lit bus around her, the man still staring, the other passengers vague and unreal. Looking in or out was the same. Her thoughts were almost completely fragmented now. She forced her fingers into the gap between the seat in front and the side and the discomfort was something to hold on to.
The conductor was back. He wanted her to get up, to move back. The glass partition between the front and back of the bus (Smoking, she thought in a moment of clarity. For smoking at the back. Long ago) had turned opaque. Behind it the seats had been replaced by narrow austere beds. On the nearest one her own nightdress was laid out, on top of the flat pillow. She picked it up, running her fingers through the fabric, amazed that this part of her was here. The conductor, who she now saw was a woman, indicated that she should change and get into bed.
There were two other women, younger than her. They were changing into nightwear, desperate not to look at each other. She looked behind her and through the aisle gap in the compartment could see a man pulling down his trousers. His underwear bulged unevenly; she looked away in embarrassment. She didn’t want to undress here, in front of these strange women, so close to these strange men. She wanted a paper. She wanted her own bed. But the conductress was insistent, raking her arms as she pulled her top off , pushing her nightdress over her head. She jerked away, and finished undressing herself.
She wanted to climb into bed, to hide, but the sheets were tucked tight across the mattress. She pulled and pulled at them, eventually yanking one side out completely. There was a thin blanket on top and nothing more. She huddled as well as she could under the covers.
She didn’t want to close her eyes, not in this place, but the conductress had other ideas. After watching the youngest girl being force fed a tablet- it had been her sobbing before, the sound was unmistakable- she took the round, pink pill without protest. Within seconds her eyes were dragged shut and the engine lulled heragainst her will into dreamless sleep.
When she woke, she didn’t know where she was. There was an engine sound, there was movement, but she was lying down with a pillow under her head. For a moment she thought she was on a boat. On holiday. Holiday must be good. So why did she feel so awful?
She opened her eyes. There was a painted metal roof, and on one side there were peeling advertisments. She was still puzzled until she saw the silver rail stretching up to the roof. A bus handhold- she could almost feel the sensation of holding it as the bus rocked.
Her covers had come completely loose in the night; the blanket and sheet were on the floor. Her nightdress was rucked up around her waist; she hurriedly wriggled it down to her knees. She felt uncomfortable, and her mattress was damp; in embarrassment she thought that she must have wet the bed in the night. She rolled onto her side away from the damp patch and looked through the aisle gap towards the front of the bus. The beds had turned back into seats, the man was standing there, fully dressed, halfway along the aisle, looking at her. When she saw his face she rolled back over, heedless of the state of the mattress, pulled her pillow into her chest and cried until she slept again.
The bus carried on. Time passed. Things changed. Eventually she could look out of the window and see only things; not shapes, not colours. She could look at her hands and see only hands. She didn’t want a paper; she had no interest in what was going on. She no longer noticed the man. She took her tablet every night without fail and in her world nothing ever happened until she woke again. And one day the bus stopped and she tentatively stepped off. This wasn't the destination she'd had in mind, but at least she had arrived somewhere.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/uklatest/story/0,,-5941410,00.html
# posted by Louise H @ 11:51 am 
