Whispers in the Dark

~Chapter 1~

         "Have a good day, ma'am."

         "Can I get you something, sir?"

         "Will that be all for you today?"

         "Care for a pastry? My wife made them fresh."

         "Would you like some coffee with your order?"

         There are children speaking to their parents, begging them to hurry up. This is the local bakery, "Panda." There are newspapers all around and bored looking children. The sun shines through the windows onto the tables and glistens on their mugs of coffee. A mother tells her son to stay patient and hands him her iPhone. He greedily grabs it, scooting his chair up against the wall and makes no more sounds.

         Another adult, maybe a college student, holds a book in one hand and a mug in the other. He slowly takes a sip, his eyes not leaving the pages of the book. He's sweating, as if he's nervous. I suppose he must have an assignment or a test coming up soon.

         The man behind the counter has been taking orders for the past hour. I come here a lot. I sit down and I observe. I wait. I watch. I smell the air. I listen for direction. They don't talk to me that much anymore, since I've been on a "regimen," as mother calls it. I wish mother was still here. Father said she left. Father left me a long time ago. He took my brother with him.

         But I promised mother when she first put me on my "regimen" that I would stay on it. She made me. I didn't want to disappoint her. Mother always had a really pretty smile. I liked it a lot.

         The boy playing with his mother's iPhone yawned. His mother flips another page in the paper.

         A couple of teenage-looking girls sit down with warm cups of coffee and quickly remove their scarves, shivering slightly. Though the sun is shining, it is dead winter and it is very, very cold. Their noses and cheeks are the same, dark reddish color. Their beverages seem to quickly pervade their bodies and warm them up as their shivering stops and they relax.

         I gather my things. I've spent the past three hours in this shop, observing. It's not fun anymore. Standing up, I turn to look at the table I've been sitting at. There's a print of my butt in the chair, made of office leather and the smells of all the people who sit at this table when I'm not here, a mixture of peppermint, some sort of men's deodorant, and a very pungent, flowery perfume.

         I haven't brought much with me today, just my bag with my "regimen" in it. It's a small plastic sack from the local Pharmacy with the logo on it. The "regimen" inside can be heard. The doctors label it with a tag called "Haldol." I'm supposed to take one to two every day, but without food.

         I gather my bag, dispose of my Styrofoam cup (which has been empty for more than two hours), thank the proprietor, and exit Panda Bakery. On a second whim, I turn and reenter, purchase a doughnut, notice that the child with his mother's iPhone has set it down on the table and fallen asleep (which the mother has not noticed) and leave, walking down the sidewalk towards the bus stop.

         Mother and Father left me a lot of money. I haven't even scratched the surface of it and it's been several years. I don't need to go to school or work. I'm happy.

         But I can't help but feel like something is missing. As if there is some different part of me that is lacking. I shrug it off, just like I do everyday.

         I've already eaten the doughnut by the time I get a few feet away from the bakery. It was glazed, and delicious. It was very, very, delicious.

         I sit on the bench at the bus stop and wait. The next bus (if all goes according to the schedule) should be here in twelve minutes, right at six-thirty. The sky has darkened and the orange light that is the sun has died down. The night has gotten colder. There's supposed to be snow tonight.

         After an odd eleven minutes (according to my watch) of shaking my leg and tapping my feet, the bus arrives, and opens its doors. I stand, and climb aboard. I walk towards the back, and sit down on an empty seat, staring at the floor of the bus.

         Several minutes pass and I notice blue jeans and wool boots walking on the flooring of the bus, and turn my way as the wearer sits down. I look up, slowly. She is wearing an aviator jacket, the same color as her boots (light-tan), and her long, straight dark brown hair comes over one shoulder and falls over one of her two beautifully lustrous green eyes which rest above her small nose and closed mouth. Her pale white skin shines under the lights on the bus. She's so thin. The jacket ends at her waistline and through the opening in the front, a simple black shirt can be seen.

         I've never laid eyes on anyone quite as gorgeous.

         I need to talk to her.

         She's on her phone. She looks somewhat bored, as if she's texting a friend or on a social media website. I should talk to her. It'll brighten up her day if I just say "Hello." I should talk to her. Damn she's beautiful. Her hair looks so smooth and thick. I should talk to her. I want to stare into those eyes for hours. I should really talk to her.

         I've not realized it but I've passed my stop when the driver calls for what is apparently the stop for the girl sitting across from me. I stare at where she sat, wanting to get up and shout "Wait!" and run after her.

         But I don't. She's gone.

         She was beautiful. I should talk to her next time.

         I sit on the bus for another hour before I get to my own stop and walk home, to my apartment complex, unlocking the door and entering my apartment, slowly making my way over to the small bed where I lay down and think about her eyes. They were so shiny and green and I miss them already. I hope I see her again. I want to talk to her.