Too often am I sitting on the bus bench outside of Parney’s alone. There are passersby that curve their spines into their black mirrors, and those who walk tall like emperors of Rome.
I have no phone. I curve my spine just because. Ever since I was a child, I’ve held my head low. My siblings would say I possessed the posture of a seal, so now I bend like one. My breasts are also heavy; they weigh me down, but not more than my thoughts, I think.
There is a guy I like. Or four, sometimes. I’m never fully sure, but I do know that right now, I like Pierson. He’s tall, but not towering. He walks like those emperors; like even if he has faced adversities in life, they didn’t hammer his vertebrae down. He’s witty and hides things and defends himself. It’s hard to walk all over him, and I don’t find myself wanting to. Honestly, I don’t find myself wanting to be anywhere near him.
My chest swirls with greed and excitement; I want him all to myself. But I also want to hurl whenever he approaches. There’s a weird feeling–deep down– like I know I won’t matter to him eventually. Like if I unzipped the seal suit, he’d go running in the opposite direction. I’m not sure how fast he can run under water, but I live there. I’m a seal, after all.
Is the seal a suit?
The bus arrives and Parney’s glows behind me. I did my makeup really well tonight; I almost feel like I’m in a Tove Lo music video. Hair tousling in the wind, eyeliner rugged, but not raccoon-like… I step onto the bus, hoping someone will find me attractive. I grip the cold metal poles with all my might. At the same time, I hope no one sees me; I’m scared of the spirits that lie in the back of the bus. The men whose breath reek of alcohol and abandonment.
I always wonder what happened to them. My mind skips to something unlikely; they were ostracized from their families for doing something terrible. For a second, I believe it. But then I realize: sometimes, it’s easier to assign someone a life story and a reason for why things have gone to shit, rather than to acknowledge that things have gone to shit simply because they are shit.
It’s not all in my head though. A man in the back with gnarly teeth and grey skin peers at me through blood-stained eyes. He rocks back and forth in his holed sweatshirt. It has no brand name; just navy blue all over. I hold onto my pole, balancing, but barely. I don’t want to sit. There’s a cum stain on the seat, probably.
I assume he is high on something terrible. He moves a seat forward, closer to me. I smell alcohol and piss. It’s him, I know it. We pass several Dollar Generals and Chinese restaurants before it is just me, him, and the bus driver. I want to get off, but if i do, I won’t know where i’m going.
I look back at him- one quick glance. He’s already staring. This time he talks to himself, then blows me a kiss.
I tug the yellow string. STOP REQUESTED
I can’t help but wonder when he began to believe that love abandoned him.
