Eye contact

Eye contact

You can’t ever make eye contact with a person sat directly across from you on the bus. Not even once, not even a little.

Unless of course you want to flirt with them, but then there’s always the chance of getting maced. So let’s just not and say we didn’t.

Phones are extremely helpful. Trouble is I’ve been trying to ignore mine. Normally when I get to the bus stop I put in my earbuds and put on my current playlist or a Tori Amos album, taking out one bud to greet the driver.

The bus is loud. Psychically. I can hear everyone’s bad day coming at me. People on the bus fume, they have auras 8 miles wide. Very few people on a city bus are thinking about all the good things that happened to them that day. A lot of them – us – are just moving from one place they hate to another place they hate.

I’m lucky. By the time I get on the bus, I’m going somewhere I like. Or love. Most days. Mostly. Sometimes I can’t help but get in a fight in my head, but that’s just me. That’s just having a stalker in your own mind. That’s just being crazy.

Looking down helps. Or looking out the window. Sometimes you catch the eye of a passing motorist, and it feels awful. It’s not so awful bad being on the bus if you don’t think about it, but something like that makes you think about it.

Sometimes the highway repeats in the windows on the opposite side, the headlights gridlocked on 94 melting into more billboards and train tracks. It is beautiful. It is beautiful and no one is looking. No one can see me looking out the window, wondering if they’re wondering if I’m looking at my own reflection.

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