The Girl On The Bus

It was just a figure at the bus stop. What had brought it to my attention? Maybe the fact that it was standing apart from the others. Perhaps the hood, pulled forward, hiding the face. It could have been male or female.

I saw the shuffling of the feet, the hugging of the body. I could see the earphone wire coming from under the hood. I was not surprised at the startled look when the bus arrived.

It was the voice that gave away the gender. Although the ticket request was in hushed tones, it was definitely female. She took an empty seat and huddled into the corner, pressed against the window. Her head was turned to stare out into the darkness.

When an old lady took the seat next to her, she pulled herself even closer to the side of the bus, fearing any bodily contact. The elderly woman said a few words I couldn't quite hear. It was acknowledged with a nod and a grunt, and I got a view of her eyes. They were hollow, dead eyes, devoid of emotion. Then she turned away again, intent on ending any possibility of conversation.

As the bus filled up, I stood to make way for a man on crutches. I found myself watching the girl intently. There was something about her that drew my interest. What was her story? I guessed then that I might never know.

When the old lady got up to leave the bus, I took my chance and sat beside the girl. She scrunched up even further. "You okay?" I asked.

"Fuck off!" she mumbled, practically climbing into the bus siding. I made no further attempt at conversation then. She fiddled nervously with her ipod, turning up the volume, presumably to shut out my voice.

When my arm accidentally brushed against her, she flinched. "Sorry," I felt compelled to say, though I doubted I had caused her any physical pain. As the bus emptied I thought it best to change seats. She barely acknowledged my action, still tensed, still hugging herself for protection.

*

She was there again the next day. Still standing a few feet from the rest of the crowd. "Hello again," I said, being friendly.

"Fuck off," she said, and moved a few feet away. I tried to ignore her, but there was something, I don't know, something that drew me to this lost soul. The Samaritan in me, I guess. I watched as she shuffled toward the bus, careful to avoid any body contact. I saw the way she placed her ticket in the hopper, waited for the driver to stamp it, then snatched it back without a word.

She chose a single seat this time. No chance of anyone sitting too close. Again the bus filled up quickly and I found myself standing. I was only inches from her. I could see how uncomfortable this made her from the way she balled herself up in her seat, rocking and moving her knee up and down.

Her discomfort made me uncomfortable. I felt like I was impinging into her personal space. To make matters worse, the bus lurched and I fell forward, pretty much on top of her.

"Get off me!" she screamed. Her fists started flying in my direction. The whole bus turned in our direction.

"Sorry," I tried, righting myself. But the girl had lost it. She punched and kicked at me, screaming. The driver stopped the bus.

"Is everything all right, Miss," he asked as he swung down the aisle.

"Get him away from me!" the girl screamed hysterically.

"The guy didn't do anything," one of the passengers piped up.

"Yes, okay, but I think it might be best if you got off, Sir," he said to me.

*

It was a long walk home. As I reached in my pocket for the door key I caught a movement in the shadows across the street. The hooded figure shuffled from foot to foot. It was the girl. Something told me to get inside and lock the door.

I watched through the window as she just stood there staring back. I closed the curtains and tried to forget her, but somehow I couldn't. When I peaked out she was still there. It became a game of who would give in first; I guess she won.

"Did you want to talk to me?" I called across, from the doorway. She hesitated, then, looking around to make sure nobody was watching, she came across the street. She still kept her distance.

"They let me out too soon, didn't they?" she said quietly. Then she turned on her heels and ran.

*

She wasn't on the bus the next day. But as soon as I rounded the corner of my street I saw the small figure hiding in the shadows. By the time I reached my front gate she had stepped out and was standing by the curb.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked. She shook her head. I sat down on the wall beside the gate. After a minute or two she crossed the road and sat down at the other end of the wall, head down, doing that knee thing of hers.

"My name's James," I said. I waited for a response but it was not forthcoming. She began to rock, to hug herself. "Are you okay?"

"Ran out of my meds," she said. I wasn't sure how to respond. This girl needed something from me, otherwise why keep coming back, but what did she need? I'm not a doctor. "What time is it?" she asked, looking up for once.

"Half six," I responded.

"Gotta go now." With that she took off running.

*

She wasn't around the next day, or the one after that. I wondered what might have happened to her. I hoped she was okay. I don't know why, but I had started to care about this strange girl. Not in a romantic way, but as a friend in need.

Then I spotted her at the bus stop. "Hello," I said, being careful not to get into her personal space. She looked up and I thought I caught the start of a smile. Then some idiot bumped into her and she closed down again, shutting out the world.

When she got on the bus she went right to the back, to the long bench seat. I followed her. Placing my backpack on the seat beside her, I asked "May I," and when she nodded, I took the seat beside my bag. For once, she didn't stare out of the window. Instead, it was her feet that got her attention.

"I've missed you," I said quietly.

"Hospital," she whispered. She was pulling at the cuff of her jacket, but not before I saw the bandage on her wrist. I nodded to let her know I understood. "L.C," she said. I didn't understand what she was saying. I felt like a dummy when she added "My name."

She followed me off of the bus, at a distance. I stopped for her to catch up, she stopped too. We continued the walk to my house with her several paces behind. I took my seat on the wall and she took hers. "Are you okay now?" I asked.

"No," she whispered. She started scratching at the bandage.

"You shouldn't do that," I said.

"Why not?" she almost shouted. She stood up and moved in front of me. "Why shouldn't I hurt myself? It's better than letting other people hurt me." She started pulling on the bandage.

"Stop that," I said, grabbing at her wrists.

"Don't touch me," she screamed, pulling away. I held up my hands. "I'm not worth it," she whispered, backing away.

"What makes you think that?" I asked, trying to understand the girl.

"Nobody wants me ... except in that way," Then she turned away and I could see from the way her shoulders moved that she was crying.

"What about your parents, your mother ..." She turned back and I could see the anger in her eyes.

"Which one? The bitch that dumped me as a baby or all the ones Dad insisted I call Mum?" I was beginning to understand her problems.

"Your Dad then ..."

"The one who threw me out when I was fourteen you mean? He's dead now." There was something menacing about the way she said it, like she was pleased he was dead. "What time is it?"

I told her and once again she took off running. I was left wondering what else might have happened to make this girl so unhappy.

*

"You don't want to know me, really you don't," she said the next evening, without warning. The knee trembling was getting worse. "I hurt people," she said. For the first time I saw the device on her ankle. I knew she had problems, but what had she done that was so bad?

"You don't want to hurt me, do you?"

"No ... I don't know ... I might. Sometimes I just ..." She turned her head away.

"Your father, did you ..."

"Yes, I hurt him. He deserved it. Bastard." I had underestimated just how sick this girl was. "You want me to go, don't you?" she whispered, seeing the look on my face. When I didn't answer, she took that as rejection. She turned and walked away.

*

It was more than a week before she reappeared at the bus stop. When I tried to talk to her, she ignored me, turning away and pulling the hood over her face. We were back to square one. Then I became even more disconcerted when I realized she was mumbling to herself.

It seemed like she was having an argument with herself. She kept turning to an invisible someone and saying 'No'. People were looking at her, keeping their distance. On the bus nobody sat beside her, despite the lack of available seats. I took the risk.

"Fuck off!" she said as I sat down. I ignored that remark. She turned her face to the window.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered to the back of her head. Slowly she turned to look at me. It was the first time I had been so close. The eyes I had thought of as emotionless now just looked sad, like a puppy who lost its favourite toy. What had she lost, I wondered?

I noticed the volume on the earphones was turned to max. What was she shutting out? The outside world, or her own inner world? She scanned my face, taking in every detail, before turning back to the window. We travelled on in silence.

"Coming?" I asked as we reached my stop. I was at the bus door before she moved. As I walked up the street, with her several paces behind, I could hear her mutterings. Not what was said, just that some inner conflict was being verbalized a few feet behind me.

When I sat down on our wall, I was surprised when she sat closer than usual. And the hood was off. Her hair, cut boyishly short, was orange with a blue streak. For someone trying so hard to remain unnoticed this was an enigma.

"I'm bad news, you know. People get hurt around me," she said, looking me straight in the eye. Then she lowered her head, as if lost in thought. "No!" she blurted.

"No, what?"

"Nothing." She went back to her inner conversation, then, "I gotta go."

*

The next day was Sunday, so I didn't expect to see L.C. It came as a surprise when a knock on the door saw the frightened girl standing there. But there was something different about her. The hood was down, the jacket open, revealing a rather ample bosom. I shouldn't have been looking but it was hard to miss.

"Like what you see?" she asked, pushing past me and entering the lounge. Who was this stranger? This was not the L.C. I had come to know. "D'you want to feel them?" she asked, moving closer. "Go on; you know you want to." I backed away, shocked at the change in her.

"No, I don't want ..." I stammered.

"That's what all men want, isn't it?" She pressed herself against me, and I pushed her away.

"I'm not all men," I spat, "Hell, you're just a kid. What do you take me for?" I watched as the façade melted. She turned once more into the lost little girl I had come to know.

"They say I ask for it," she whispered, her eyes once more trained on her feet.

"Who do?"

“The men who use my body...” Her voice trailed off and she drew her coat around herself and held it there tightly. I thought I saw tears forming in her eyes. I’m not a guy who shows emotion easily but I have admit I was close to welling up myself. I could see the pain. I didn't know what to say. Should I ask? No, she would tell me in her own time. "What time is it?"

"Half five."

"I've got to go." She zipped up her jacket and pulled the hood forward. As she opened the door she looked up and down the street before stepping out. "Bye." Then she was gone. Bit by bit I was getting her story. It sounded all too familiar. Used and abused.

I couldn't see a way to help the girl. I'm just an ordinary bloke. But she could see something in me; something she needed.

*

Monday started cold and wet.