Next Empty Seat

"Hi. My name is Sam, Samuel, whichever you use to call me, it's fine."
As I grip on this hanging piece of lever from the rod at the ceiling of this old bus numbered in a faded eight, I look around me. People sitting quietly on their seats. They were the lucky ones to catch an empty seat upon climbing aboard this bus. And I, for 8 years have been riding on the same bus under the same situation, every single day while I go to work. So long I've been dubbed as the Last Man Standing.

But before this becomes my life's diary, I duck a few inches lower to take a quick glimpse of what's outside of the window. There he is. Old man Halley. For eight long years, he would take a stroll every morning and rest on one of the four chairs lined up at Kuiper Street. He would pull out his dull-colored ancient paperback novel and try hard to pull it away from him as he read quietly to himself. Oh no he doesn't have his reading glasses. Forgetful as he was before, he would reach his hand to his right. His hand as if waiting for something to land on his palm slowly slid down to the empty wooden chair. He would turn to his right, take one look at that empty chair beside him and sigh.

Slow-motion. That's how the bus passed by the old man on the bench. My eyes saw every movement the old man made by himself. He was waiting. For what exactly? His eyes gazed above the cloudy skies as if waiting for something to fall. The right time.

No, he wasn't all by himself all those years. I remember. Years ago, they were four jolly old men who lived on pension, jogged their mornings away and rested on those lined up chairs every day. I would see them every single morning, laughing their hearts out, for old age, they were boisterous as kids. Old man Halley was always the reserved one, secretly listening to Mr. McNaught's stories while reading his shiny blue paperback. Mr. McNaught, he was the brightest of them all. Loud and rude, he would spin the most made-up stories, with reality, hints of thrill and suspense, like his story about the blue whale passing under his boat. Those stories the Shoemaker would always question their validity. Isn't that impossible? I mean, wouldn't that have overturned the boat? What was the ocean like when the whale shadowed under the marina? A very doubtful man he is, paying attention to littlest detail as possible. He would have questions on every scenario which would be answered by Sir Levy. Lucky Mr. McNaught who might be spinning their heads, finally finding back-up for his stories. That happened to my cousin at his scuba adventure! Helpful indeed, Sir Levy. He's always prepared. The age never seemed to destroy his habit. Too much he always brings a reading glass for the forgetful Old Man Halley.

All changed when one unfortunate event happened on a day on August. Tragedy fell along Mr. McNaught's family when he slipped down a flight of stairs. The three old men were there at his funeral. My morning rides on the bus became silent as we passed by Kuiper street. They still did their daily routine, but it wasn't anymore as fun as before. A year after, the Shoemaker fell ill and in a few weeks, his spot became another empty seat. Depressed for days at another loss, Sir Levy's chair became the next empty seat shortly. Today, Old Man Halley still did their routines, it was harder when the years passed.

The bus moved on for hours with my thoughts still on the four old men that once shared those four lined up chairs. They made me think. Think about myself. Think about my boring, repetitive life as the Last man Standing. What have I been waiting for? Kuiper Street was one scenery that passed by, one stop I didn't take. As I stood here for hours, the bus stopped at this familiar road. A chair beside me was emptied as a woman left the seat. Finally, an empty seat. But I'm not going to take it.

I took a walk at the narrow aisle and stepped down on the fresh green grass on the sidewalk. Looking around the sceneries I missed for 8 long years, I said to myself

"I'm finally home"