Human Spines

Bus Seats

Dumaine

        Are we even moving? Why have I never been on a bus before? How does this even work? Does Hans know how this works? Are we supposed to just quietly ride a bus with random strangers for several hours? Who thought this was a good idea? We've just gotten on and I already want to stick a fork into the woman's leg beside me. Why is she next to me? Can't she tell I'm a murderer? Go away.

        "Can we switch seats now?" Emmeline is standing in front of me, pressing her knees against mine, leaning so far forward, I'm not sure how she hasn't fallen already. I guess I'm not allowed to say no.

        She smiles her seven-year-old smile as I move over, giving her my seat. Goodbye strange woman. Emmeline's feet swing playfully, unable to touch the floor, perfectly happy now that she's no longer sitting beside Hans.

        "I'm sorry for her... yeah..." I don't know how to finish my sentence as I face the old man.

        Hans nods. "It's okay."

        "But it's not though. You're leaving your students and getting involved in something very dangerous to help a girl who won't even sit next to you. It's not okay. Her behavior is not okay. Emmeline." I turn to her, now realizing that I need to ask her to apologize to Hans.

        "No." Hans spins me back around. "That's exactly why I need to help her. I'd like to teach her how to dance. She'll finally be able to see once I teach her how to dance." His smile is so kind and effortless.

        It takes me a moment to find words. "Thank you. Really, thank you." I speak honestly, realizing once again how extremely tired I am. But something's touching my hair.

        "Emmeline?" I don't turn around.

        "Hmm?" She sounds preoccupied.

        "Whatcha doin'?"

        She tugs a dreadlock. "It's soft and almost spongy. Your hair's really curly, isn't it? Yeah, it is. I've never curled my hair before. Oops." Oh no.

        I reach back to feel what she did, praying scissors weren't involved.

        Dread, dread, dread, very large clump. She's tied them together. Not cool. True seven-year-old Emmeline.

        "I didn't mean to, it just sort of..." She tucks her hands away. Usually my hat stops people from doing this, but don't know proper bus etiquette so I took it off when we boarded just in case. I didn't want to appear rude.

        I untangle my hair, pulling out a dozen knots, and return my hat to my head. Maybe I should just chop it all off.

        But hold up. "Emmeline, you still haven't changed your clothes. What'd you do with the ones I gave you?" This is bad. I hadn't even realized her still bloody clothes and hair. Maybe that's why the woman next to us is acting so strangely. At least Emmeline's hair is dark and long enough to hide most of it.

        "They're right here." She pulls the clothes out of her bag. Grabbing onto the hem of her own shirt, she tugs upward. Nope.

        I grab onto her hands and pull her shirt back down. "You are not changing right here." I make sure my voice isn't too loud. And my face isn't too red.

        "Why? I'm all messy." Her tone is puzzled.

        "That's not how things work. You're supposed to change when others can't see you."

        "Then there is something wrong with how things work because someone can always see me. And why does it even matter? Babies and Demons and animals rarely wear clothes. Fish never wear clothes." Her eyebrows scrunch, thinking about it.