Waiting For The 125

"So, in essence, that is implicit differentiation in all its glory." Mrs. Nolsen said, her eyes beaming with pride as she regarded the hideously long theory, she had just proved on the board.
Finally, I signed with relief. The end was near. I could only stand calculus for a while. Then my brain would start screaming inwardly and Chinese would also blare out of the teacher’s mouth.
I glanced at my watch. 2.44 PM. The bus reached my stop at 2.50 PM.
"Study the chapters on the topics, we considered today. Also remember to do the homework."
Blah, blah, blah, we know the drill. Infact, I knew that she always said that at the end of class for formality sake. She knew except for one or two diligent students, the majority of the class would do the homework the night or the morning before. Personally, I did mine mere minutes before the class but then I was a hardcore procrastinator.
"That’s it, have a great day." Mrs. Nolsen said as she finished the class.
Halleluyah, I shouted in my head as I grabbed the already packed backpack and my cell. I hurriedly put on my jacket and hoisted the bag onto my shoulders. Jeez, though I had gotten used to the tremendous weight, I still felt like Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The Marta tokens jingled in my pocket as I hurried out of the class.
"Bye, Mrs. Nolsen."
"Bye, Colin" she replied.
There was nothing like a good relationship with a teacher, especially in a demanding course.
I stepped out of the class, glancing at the hall clock. It proclaimed 2.47. Sweet heaven, I would have to run.
I reached for the clasps and tugged them tighter. Running with a heavy backpack was difficult. Running with a loose heavy backpack was a nightmare.
I took a deep breath, then I broke into the saving run.
The double hall doors bounced around in my vision as I ran towards it. I slowed as I reached it. Then I took out the ready napkin. Wrapped it around my pinky finger and pushed the button to automatically open the doors. I did not even want to imagine the plethora of germs and bacteria on those door handles.
The two doors swing open in harmony as the cold rushed in and blasted me in the face. I pulled out my gloves from the side pocket on my backpack, wearing them quickly.
I dashed into the cold. I could see the bus stop across the huge parking lot. Across the meager school lawn, then across the road. Truly, it seemed like an eternity away.
I continued to run. Then I saw her out of the corner of my eyes. Cutie Alert, my mind yelled. She was leaning against one of the walkway columns; bundled up in winter gear. She was clearly cold; still she was divinely beautiful. She looked up as I ran past. I saw her eyes. They were fiercely blue. Sweet father, she was going to plague my mind until I saw her again.
I reached the parking lot now, and began to weave my way through the maze of cars. Cars of all types idly waited for their masters. Long are the hours, still they waited obediently. They were ever faithful and ready to fire into life for the next journey of the master. Now, If only Marta was that faithful, the nagging worry in my head would cease.
I emerged from the parking lot and approached the lawn. Once again, I considered the never-ending decision. Walk round the lawn or tramp across it like a caveman. The decision was easy today.
"Dang it to hell" I said as I ran through the lawn.
The final obstacle lay ahead. The road. Patience was my only virtue when crossing a road. I did not think my body colliding with a car would be a particularly painless way to die.
My mother’s instructions echoed in my head as I waited for the chance to cross.
"Always look left, then right and then look left again before crossing. Repeat the process as long as it takes. Don’t take chances. Speeding cars move faster than they appear and pack a painful punch. Please do this and maybe you might live long enough to bear me, strong grandsons."
I always adhered to that process diligently; none of these cars ever had my name stamped on them. I did not envision being killed by a car. Probably a heart attack but definitely not by a car.
I saw my chance and crossed the road and finally reached the bus stop.
************
My heart thumped viciously against my chest as I stood at the bus stop. There were three other people at the stop.
A boy and a girl, clearly a couple from the way, he held onto her. Also an old woman, who was a regular at this stop and whom I have seen around campus.
I paid them no mind as I glanced at my watch. 2.50pm, good, I had made it in time. The people at this stop and the other people, I could see at the other stop down the road were a very good sign. People at a stop meant that the bus hasn’t come while empty stops meant the bus had just come and left. I preferred the former, as I liked the fact that I was not freezing alone.
I opened my jacket pocket and felt for the tokens. The smooth round coins were still there. I could only imagine my horror if they had somehow gotten out of my pocket while I ran here. Searching for small tokens on the ground in the freezing cold was not a pleasing prospect.
My teeth chattered together as I dropped the backpack and started to pace around the stop.
God in heaven, it was cold. I had on two shirts, a sweat jacket and also a thick winter coat. Still I freezed. I could see the breath from my nostril cloud up in front of me. If I could see that, then it must be around 21° c but it felt like 15° c with the icy wind gusting in my face. Man, this was balmy Georgia; they must be turning to icicles up in New York and Chicago.
The bus was still not here. It was now 2.55pm. The small nagging worry at the back of my mind suddenly increased tenfold. I worried for good reason.
Marta had a particularly nasty habit of not adhering to the stop-times listed in the schedule. The buses usually arrived when late by an average of 10-15 minutes. I had once waited for a bus for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of my life wasted, staring at fortunate people in cars flash by while my mind grinded itself in agonizing frustration.
I dug out the schedule list from my backpack. I was right; the bus should have been here ten minutes ago. It was now 3.00pm now.
The next arrival time was 3.20pm. Curse it to hell and back. I was going to freeze for the next fifteen minutes. I factored in another five minutes to the usual ten minutes, so as not to grind myself to frustration in ten minutes. Marta was so inefficient that the 125, which I was waiting for, might just come three minutes before the next scheduled one.
I was truly freezing now. I paced faster to keep my icy blood flowing. If I were ever going to get frostbite, it would be at a bus stop waiting for a late Marta bus. They did connect me with places and the world but they also connected me with pain, cold and frustration.
The cars flashed by, mere inches away. Sometimes the frustration was so much that the thought would creep in to jump in front of one, preferably a big truck, to end it all. But then I was like most people in the regard that I did not want to die.
The wind howled louder now. 3.07. Still no bus. Hell, this was punishment. I looked at the other victims to see how they were holding up.
The old lady was reading a book while the couple had snuggled up against each other. They were about the same age. Dressed in the radical garb of metal loving college students. All black clothing with the metal studs jutting in the usual places. Spiked hair peaking out from under thick hats. What a sight, whatever happened to normal clothes, but who was I to judge. I blazed Linkin Park and Chevelle in the comfort of my room. I just didn’t have the courage to go out dressed like that.
3.12pm, cars zoomed by, endlessly. Still no Marta bus in sight. Still I freezed. The worse thing about waiting for a bus was the smug looks that the people in cars regarded you with. Oh here, I am cruising in my warm car with music while you are out there waiting for a bus, freezing to hell. Tough luck, buddy. God, I hated those looks.
3.15pm, I glanced up the road, no 125 in sight. Then I heard voices.
I turned and saw that the couple was now arguing. Something had apparently happened while I was looking up the road.
"How could you have waited for so long to tell me" the girl yelled at the boy "what am I supposed to do now"
"The doctor said that there are drugs to suppress it" the boy replied.
"Suppress what, you mean I am supposed to live with this for the rest of my life and you waited two months to tell me."
Life had suddenly become interesting again. This was quite juicy. The old lady was also listening intently.
"Get away from me," she said as she pushed him away.
"Laura, please" the boy pleaded coming closer again.
She slapped him viciously as he got within range. The sound was harsh in the cold air as the still air multiplied it.
He froze in shock for a long second. Then he grabbed her
"How dare you, I got it from you" he said as he shook her.
Then he started hitting her.
3.18pm. I watched in horror at the unfolding scene.
The girl was on the ground now. Still he punched away. His swinging fists brought back the memories of my father’s fists smashing into my mother’s eyes. Something in me snapped.
"Stop" I yelled as I ran towards them. I reached them and pulled him away from her. Then he turned on me.
His eyes blazed with anger. Clearly he was not about to talk. He came at me swinging fast.
I could see his punches as they came. Left, right, the same pattern again and again. I blocked and dodged them easily. I have studied martial arts since I was seven. I had to protect my mother somehow.
His attack pushed me up the sidewalk. Then as he swung to the left, I stepped forward to the right, sending a widow-maker to the side of his head.
The punch did not faze him. It only enraged him. Then he charged. As I stepped back to meet him, I tripped over an unseen object.
Time slowed as he grabbed me out of the air and flung me in the path of an oncoming car.
It was a black Honda civic. The eyes of the driver widened in horror as she tried desperately to stop the speeding hulk of lethal metal.
I was horizontal in the air. A thousand thoughts flashed through my head at once. My unfulfilled life characterized by wasted chances. I could see my cats, my mother’s face. The blue eyes of the girl against the column shone in my mind. I was never going to know her name.
The brakes screeched as I hit the windshield and was flung over the top of the car. The ground rose, smacking me in the face as I landed on the hard road.
I heard voices and screams. I could see blood engulfing the space around my head. I could not feel my legs.
The pain was overwhelming and everything started to blur. As darkness consumed me, I saw the 125 appear at the end of the street.