Girl on a Bus

                                                Girl on the Bus

I was the only passenger on a bus at the bus station when a pretty girl stepped on board. She was one of those beautiful, elegant girls that you see around, but they’re always someone else’s girl friend or wife, never someone you actually get to meet. “What are the chances,” I thought, “that she’ll come and sit next to me?” Nil, zero, zilch. Why would she, when there were so many seats available? I had already turned to gaze out the window, not to give the impression that I was thinking about this. So you could have bowled me over when there was a rustling and there she was, plumping down in the seat next to mine. I couldn’t believe my luck.

Now, she could have chosen any one of forty empty seats; but she chose the one next to mine. That’s odds of forty to one. Actually, it’s more than that because women don’t usually sit next to men they don’t know, if they can help it, just to show their utter distain for the opposite sex in general, I suppose. So the chances of her sitting next to me were more like a hundred to one.

Also, this was no ordinary city bus ride, but a three hour trip from Petchburi to Bangkok. So, I would have this beautiful girl to myself for three hours. How did I feel about that? Well, mystified comes to mind; humbled too, that she should have favored me; and not a little enamored. But I wasn’t going to give her any satisfaction by opening my mouth right away. Oh no, if she wanted me to speak to her, she’d have to earn it.

When it was departure time, the bus was still practically empty. She’d been sitting next to me for ten minutes and neither of us had uttered a word. I half expected her to move to another seat because there were so many vacant ones and she’d have plenty more room. But she didn’t even think of making a move, settling down quite comfortably right there next to me.

She didn’t, of course, show any particular interest in me and certainly didn’t attempt to begin a conversation. But my brain was in overdrive, thinking of an appropriate ice breaker. Not every day does lady luck come calling, literally. I’m the kind of guy who has great difficulty in starting a conversation with anyone, let alone a beautiful young woman. My trouble is, I tend to weigh too carefully what I’m going to say, and then it sounds phony, so half the time I end up not saying anything.

“Hi, where are you going?” This was my first brainwave. See how stupid this is? Of course she’s going to Bangkok; it says so on the bus. No, try again.

“Hi, traveling alone?” Another stupid idea. It’s as plain as daylight that she is, and I’m an idiot if I can’t figure it out for myself.

What about: “Hi, what’s your name?” Can anything be stupider? Why would you want to know her name? You don’t even know her. More to the point, why would she want to give you her name? You could be a stalker, for all she knows.

“Why are you going to Bangkok?” She might say, “Mind your own business.”

I could try to be pushy, and say, “Hi, I’m Anuwat. Long trips are so boring. I’m so glad you chose to sit next to me; we can chat and get acquainted.” Of course, she’d probably clout me with her handbag and get up and walk away immediately.
Honestly, those were the only ideas I could come up with. You can see I never took a course in how to win friends. So you can guess why I kept my mouth shut. Was I worried? Nah. I still had plenty of time to work on it; the journey to Bangkok takes three hours.

Actually, there might have been another reason why I was so tongue-tied. Earlier that day I had asked a young woman which bus to take to the depot.
“I don’t know,” she had answered, and flounced off. There’s no need to be brusque. What does it cost to be helpful and friendly? If someone asks me for directions, I always answer them politely, even if to say I can’t help you. I didn’t say anything then, but you can bet I was pissed off. Don’t people like that put you off and make you think what the world is coming to?

Was this the mental block that was preventing me from opening my mouth now? Fear of rejection? Okay, two can play at that game. I wasn’t going to start a conversation. If she wants me to say something, she’ll have to be nice to me. I’ll just sit here and stare out the window. See if I care.

The bus had been rumbling along for half an hour and I was still looking out the window, doing a good job of ignoring the girl. All the while, I’d been thinking of a suitable opening, just in case the opportunity arose. But I was stumped. What can you say to a total stranger that wouldn’t sound too trite and obvious? Suddenly, I felt a little bump on my shoulder. I couldn’t believe it! The girl had dozed off and her whole body was tilted against me, her head resting on my left shoulder. I was paralyzed with fear, or dread, or what I didn’t know. It was a nice kind of feeling, but I didn’t want her to wake up and think that I’d taken advantage of her or something, while she was asleep, so I kept perfectly still and ran through my options.

First, examine her closely; this wasn’t difficult to do because her face was inches from mine. She was young and remarkably pretty, and quite well-off, judging from the gold necklace and filigreed bracelets she wore. Her clothes were crisp and stylish, her perfume smelled nice, and she was nursing an expensive-looking purse on her lap.

We remained like this for about fifteen minutes: she scrunched up against me, and I pressed tightly against the windowpane. I had no problem with this, but it was a bit tiring, not being able to budge an inch because I didn’t want to ruin the occasion. But then a thought hit me: “Is she for real, or is this some kind of woman thing, and it’s all just an act?” I decided to test her; force her hand, literally. Her right hand was lying limp beside me, in the space between the seats. I slowly inched my left hand toward hers, intending to grab it and see what her reaction would be. My hand was now almost touching hers and I was getting ready to pounce when the bus driver braked hard. She woke up immediately and placed both hands on her lap. So much for plan A.

She was now sitting upright, prim and proper, with her eyes closed. So I continued to study her some more. Another thought struck me: “Is she a prostitute?” Judging by her clothes and jewelry, definitely not. Perish the thought. I was now getting desperate; we were almost halfway to Bangkok and I hadn’t even broken the ice. This was a chance of a lifetime, and yet I was tongue-tied! I ran through all the possible opening lines again: “Where do you live? Are you meeting someone? What do you do?” They all seemed pretty stupid; I just couldn’t think of anything original. I gave her another glance. She was blissfully asleep and certainly wasn’t going to do me any favors.

Fifteen minutes later the bus stopped and a young man came on board. The woman was now awake. I looked up as he walked passed and I thought I saw him make a sign to the woman. I might have been mistaken. But it set me off again. There had been reports of bus passengers being befriended and then drugged and robbed. Were they members of such a gang? I told myself not to accept food or drink from the woman even if she should offer me any, which didn’t seem likely anyway.

On the other hand, if I were jumping to conclusions, I was missing the chance of a lifetime. We were now reaching the outskirts of Bangkok and I was getting just a little desperate. I know what you’re thinking; I must be nuts. Two hours next to a beautiful woman and so far nothing but interior monologue. But how do you know we’re not all just some figment of a god’s dream, anyway? She was taking a thermos flask out of her traveling bag. I had to make a move; it’s now or never. I glanced at her again.

“Do you travel on this bus often?” When it came to the crunch, the words just splurted out without even having to think about them.

“Yes, quite often.” She answered without hesitation. Had she been expecting my question?

“Would you mind if I asked you something?” This was something I’d wanted to know ever since she got on the bus. “Why did you choose the seat next to mine?”
Once I had broken the ice the words just gushed out like water over a dam. Soon we were chatting away like old friends. Then she unscrewed the cap of her flask and poured out some coffee into the cap.

“Please have some,” she said, offering it to me. Her smile could have melted ice. I hesitated, my mind running riot thinking about people who’d been drugged and robbed. At the same instant, I became aware that the young man at the rear of the bus had come forward and was now sitting right behind us.

“I don’t drink coffee, thanks. Keeps me awake nights.”

“Oh, go ahead, have a sip. Can’t do any harm.” She was just a little insistent, I thought. At the same time I was trying to see if the man behind us was up to anything.

“No really, I can’t,” I said. “Doctor’s orders.”

Did she seem put off? I couldn’t tell as I watched her pouring the untasted coffee back into the flask, screw on the cap, and replace the flask in her bag.
The incident made me a little wary and I became less chatty. I had the prescience, however, to ask her for her name and phone number. Her name was Prisana. Not long after, the man behind us stopped the bus and got off.

Was I being paranoid, letting my imagination work overtime? The young woman looked so friendly and innocuous. Was I doing her a great injustice in suspecting her like this? These thoughts crossed my mind as the bus neared its destination. There was only one way to find out.

“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’ll have that coffee now.”

“What about doctor’s orders?” She smiled mischievously at me, took out the flask, and poured me a full cup.

“Well, now and then shouldn’t do any harm.” We were now only minutes away from the bus station, so even if the coffee was laced, she couldn’t harm me anyway. So I drank all the coffee.

Ten minutes later we said goodbye and I was in a taxi heading towards my apartment. When I got there, tired after the long journey, I undressed and fell flat on my bed. I was still thinking of the young woman and thought I’d give her a call. I wanted to check if she’d really given me her number. I picked up the phone and dialed, pressing the receiver tightly to my ear. I heard the dial tone and waited for someone to answer. I don’t know how long I waited like that, flat on my back, before I dropped off to sleep. Hours later, I woke up and found myself still clutching the receiver.