Does This Bus Stop at 82nd Street?

Those waiting at the bus-stop watched with raised eyebrows as she ran up, panting. She was thinnish, tallish, her brown hair tied in a hasty ponytail and her sneakers dangerously unlaced. She had obviously thrown a sweater on over some old clothes. Her jeans were torn and it didn't look like that was a style statement, just lack of care.

She arrived at the same time as the bus. "Does This Bus Stop at 82nd Street?" she panted, and climbed on without actually waiting for an answer. she fumbled in the pocket, pulled out a coin and handed it over. Then, she sat in the front seat and peered out the window, watching, watching. Her hands were clenched in a fist. As the driver revved up and the bus started again, she slumped back in the seat and breathed deeply. The young man sitting next to her thought he heard her murmur, "He didn't see me get on the bus." She leaned back on the seat and closed her eyes. Her fingers unclenched. She was asleep.

The young man, who had been watching her from the corner of his eye, now turned and looked frankly at her. How old was she? Late twenties? She was obviously pretty, under all the neglect. Who was it, she didn't want knowing she was on the bus? Whoever it was, the young man suddenly felt a pang of jealousy. Why was someone else ruling her life, making her escape on a bus?

She slept soundly, and he gently shook her awake as 82nd Street neared. She rubbed her eyes, childlike, and said, "Oh, we're there?" She didn't seem to notice that he disembarked with her.

"May I help you get somewhere?"

She hesitated. He waited, keeping quite still. She was like a hunted animal. Sudden movements would startle her.

Finally, she whispered, "The auditions."

Auditions?

She saw his questioning look and smiled suddenly, her face lighting up. "You wouldn't know," she clarified. "We live in our own world, and we think everyone knows. The auditions for the Biggest Reality Show."

He smiled back. "Yeah, I'm an ignoramus that way. Where are these auditions?"

She told him, and he flagged down a cab, realising it was too far to walk.

"I don't have ..." she began.

"I'll pay," he replied, without waiting for her to finish.

The 10 minute cab ride was a silent one, each looking at the other and thinking their own thoughts. How he wished he knew what hers were. Was she thinking of the audition, or of the man she had run from, or -- dare he hope it -- of him, and how he was helping her?

The queue seemed to be a mile long. Everyone seemed to have turned up for the audition. He waited with her, helped her through the registration formalities, brought her coffee and two donuts (vanilla and chocolate). The hours went by, talk with intervals of silence.

At the moment her name was announced, he realised something. He loved this girl. He didn't want her to run any more. He wanted her by his side forever.

She was standing up, poised to move to the stage.

"Before you go ..." he muttered.

"Yes?" she whispered back.

"I love you. Marry me," he said.

She moved past him sideways, down the aisle of seats and up front.

She was trembling as she faced the judges and told them her name.

The music started.

Her voice emerged.

Pleading. demanding. Cajoling. reaching out. Moving back, marching forward. The lyrics, the tune, the miracle that was the singer all held the audience spellbound. There was not a dry eye among the audience. The judges' sniffles could be heard on their mics.

The golden buzzer. She was through to the live shows.

"Who have you brought along with you?" the judge asked, when the confetti had stopped falling and the cheers had subsided enough so he could be heard.

"My future husband. He came on the bus with me," she replied.