631, 10:13 pm

631, 10:13 pm

He came back often, though he never got any closer than here, the bus stop at the end of the street. From the bench inside the Plexiglas shelter, he could just look past the pole in the sidewalk displaying the bus schedules, and that was good enough. At the top of the street, just before the street vanished out of sight around its own gentle curve, was the house where he’d grown up; and though he’d been back dozens of times, it had been nearly two and a half years since he’d been any closer than stop number 14 on route 631.
He lived in the city, in an apartment he rented from the money he made from his measly job. He came back here often, especially in December. From his position at stop 14 he could just see the tiny lights of the Christmas tree in the window. The familiar array of lights on the outside of the houses along the street, especially that house at the top of the street where he’d grown up, brought back memories from his childhood.
The lights reminded him of the year that it snowed on Christmas Eve- around here it only snows every 10 years or so. He looked up at the window of his old room; it was dark. His older brother, Dave, woke him that morning kneeling on his bed, his face pressed against the window in the room they’d shared. His breath forming dense clouds on the window, Dave shouted, “Hey, come look at this!” Shaking dreams out of his hair, he knelt next to Dave on the bed and watched the snow come down in thin, frantic waves. He knelt there for nearly a minute, wiping his breath from the window.
When he turned away from the foggy glass, his brother was putting on his jeans and cowboy boots. “Whadya doin?” he asked.
“I’ma go outside and make a snowman,” replied Dave.
“I wanna come too!”
“Okay, well you better ask mom. And put on pants.”
They spent the rest of the day trying to make a snowman. The wet snow melted and fell apart in their fingers, making it impossible to make snowballs.
Later they no longer shared a room, but could always be found together. They had the same friends at their high school, even though he was a year younger than Dave. Dave had always made sure to accommodate him into his plans.
The first Christmas away, about five months after he’d left, he came to the bus stop on Christmas Eve and, standing next to the bus schedules, thought about home. As he stood there thinking, still fuming about all that had happened, he’d looked up and noticed Dave standing on the front porch, looking up the street. Dave’s head started to turn toward the bus stop, and seeing the way Dave stood there like a watchman, waiting for the return of the prodigal son, he wanted to run up the street and hug him. Instead, he turned his back and quickly sat down on the bench in the shelter and read the dirty high school kids had etched into the Plexiglas.
Now, when he rode the bus back, he sat in the shelter and just watched. He sat there, half hoping that he would see one of his parents so that he could curse them, and half hoping they would see him and invite him back. He thought about the arguments, the fights. He thought about the fight he’d had with his dad when he’d gotten a tattoo shortly after graduation. He thought about the family trips to visit his grandparents in northern California when he was younger and the fun they’d had. He wincingly thought about his mother’s reaction when she found out he had slept with his girlfriend. He thought about the countless guilt trips, the nagging, the screaming, and the midnight flight to the big city.
He hadn’t talked to any of his family since he left, and outside of the first Christmas when he saw Dave, hadn’t seen any of them either. Since then he’d been careful to always come back late at night so as not to risk being seen. The thought crossed his mind that it would be just as easy to sneak back in as it had been to sneak out. He fingered the keys in his pocket, feeling the key to the front door that he’d taken with him. He fished the keys out of his pocket and stared at the house key, thinking they probably hadn’t changed the locks or anything.
From down the streets, a dull moan began and got louder. Suddenly, the lights of the bus were visible and illuminated the stop as it turned the corner and began up the street toward the stop.

- - - -

Her back and feet hurt already. As she walked through the crisp December air she felt the bite of the cool air in her lungs. She was hurrying, praying the bus would be late. She’s been late to this job too often already, and her boss was getting impatient.
A chill ran down her spine when the wind blew through her jacket against the wet spot on the shoulder of her blouse. While rushing to get her children off to bed so she could leave for work, Antoine, her youngest, spit up on her. And now she was rushing to make up for lost time. The cleaning crew she worked with began at 11 pm. Luckily, if she caught the bus at 10:09, she could be in the city on time.
Looking at her old, scratched up watch, she realized she only had 5 minutes to make the last 6 blocks to the nearest bus stop. Trying to forget how tired and achy she was, she started to move a bit quicker and pray a bit louder. She listened to the sounds of the night and the rhythm of her own heavy breathing as she shuffled along. She heard the sounds of insects, the perceived sound of the cool night air pressing against her, and the jingle of the keys in her pocket.

In Progress…..