The Link

Turnstiles

The driver returned and cranked the bus into high gear, which always felt like low gear compared with ordinary cars. The rain had started up again, and the bus was like a boat cutting through waves as it sped through its final route of the day.

“The strange thing about me these days is that, it’s like when I leave my apartment for too long, I start to feel really tired and drained,” he said. “I used to be able to go whole days outside with my friends, doing everything. But I’m already starting to feel like an old-timer. You know, wanting to spend time at home. I never thought I’d say this this early in my life.”

“I know the feeling,” she replied, her arms wrapped around her backpack. “It’s like, ‘Okay, time for myself now’, right? But then sometimes, I just can’t stay in my house. After a few weeks of a moderate degree of privacy, I would just beg for a friend to stop by unexpectedly and hang out for a little while, you know?”

“That’s true. Outside input is a good thing when those inner-thoughts get too...well, I like to call it ‘loud’.”

“Did you say loud?”

“Yeah, it’s like, you’re in your apartment, alone, and you just start to think these terrible things. Like, ‘I’m not smart’ or ‘Why did I do that’ or ‘God I need a life’. You know? Things like that.” He ran his hands through his dark brown hair. She wanted to touch it even though it looked a little dirty from the rain.

“Uh huh,” she mumbled. She glimpsed her own reflection in the bus window and noticed her hair didn’t look quite right. She fiddled with it a little bit but then gave up, realizing that it was futile to try and make it better.

He stretched and clasped both hands behind his head. Then he jerked a little bit and stuck his nose to the window, apparently checking to see if he’d missed his stop.

She giggled. She had needed a bit of amusement lately. A genuine laugh was always such a good remedy for a bad mood.

 “I can’t see anything,” he said. “I think we’re at the midway point after the second stop.”

 Their eyes met and it stunned her like a sci-fi ray gun. He was really cute.

 He smirked comfortably. “You remind me of somebody.”

 “Who?”

 “A girl I used to know in middle school. I thought she was really pretty, and at the time, I was just ALL NERD, you know? But anyway, she always sat next to me and really enjoyed what I had to say. I’m not saying necessarily that I think you’re enjoying what I have to say, but there’s something about you that’s exactly the same.”

 She looked at him and saw that he was looking off in the distance again, like he was visualizing clearly what he was talking about. He seemed very cerebral and her interest was piqued. She was now fighting an insatiable desire to find out everything about what makes him tick.

 “By the way, my name is Gil,” he said.

 “Lianne,” she replied, offering her hand.

 He shook it lightly.

 But he became silent. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Perhaps he felt that he had said too much? She tried to think of all possible scenarios. Did she say something that made him stop wanting to talk to her? What was going on in his mind? She fiddled with her backpack, opening and closing one of the zippers.

 Then the moment she feared arrived – Gil reached over to push the stop button. He would be getting off soon. He would be leaving her life as quickly as he had entered.