The Guy with The Earphones

They were so loud he could hear them through the music pumping out from his earphones.

They were French, or Spanish, or whatever. He didn't care that much, the only thing he knew was that they were loud and he needed some tranquility.

He looked around him. Not many people were on the bus with him, but nobody else seemed to care about that annoying talking.

They were sitting a few sits in front of him. There was no chance for him to look angrily at them and maybe get them to stop.

He tried to turn the volume up.

No, it was on maximum.

He looked out at the window, closing his eyes, hoping all that noise would disappear.

His fist closed. He tried to concentrate on his music.

Mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.

But the song was catchy, one of his favorites. Fast rhythm, good drum beat.

Mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.

He just needed some peace.

He got out his house hoping to have a nice bus trip, in which he could clear his mind before seeing her.

He just needed some time to think.

Mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.

How to shut up someone you don’t know without being extremely rude?

He needed to think, to clear his mind.

He needed to make a decision, but how to do that with all that loud chatting?

He looked at the screen in front of his. Not his stop, not yet. He had at least twenty more minutes to spend there.

But maybe they would have gone off sooner. They sounded like tourists, after all. Yes, they would probably get off in Central.

Mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.

The music, he needed to focus on the music. And on her, her face, her smile.

Did she want to get back with him? Yes. Did he want her back? That was the question.

He needed to revive the speech he prepared on his mind.

Mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.

How was it? I missed you, but... But what?

Back to the music, for a little bit. Just the time to get those annoying voices out of his head.

Mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.

Just five minutes, he needed just five minutes with his own thoughts. C’mon, get off.

He looked at them again. They didn’t seem to have any intention of stop talking.

He looked at the screen. He jumped off of his sit. It was his stop the one in orange letters. Someone had to get off too, luckily for him.

He ran down the stairs of the bus, then out of there.

She was standing a few steps away , waiting for him in front of the cafe’ they were supposed to meet.

I missed you. There were no buts.

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The Guy with The Guitar Case

He looked at her quickly, a few sits behind him. She was looking back at him.

He knew what she was thinking.

He looks so ridiculous with that hair.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

He used to be different. He used to change his attitude around other people, because he couldn’t stand looks like that one. Only one months before, he would have gone nuts. He used to want everyone to like him. Not because he needed to, just because he was raised that way.

Please everyone, as much as you can, and you will live a long and happy life.

That’s what his mother used to tell him while she was preparing him to go to sleep.

He would look at her face, the bruises around her eye and he would think that that didn’t seem like a happy life, and he wasn’t pleasing anyone.

That’s why he never wanted anything in his life. He just kept on going with the flow, following everyone on their path, never creating one of his own.

And then his mother died, and everything started to show different colours. The gray tones that used to cover his life started to become purple, and yellow, and blue. The curtains fell. His eyes became brighter and wider. He could see.

He smiled, thinking about it.

He grabbed the case and the bag, ready to get off the bus.

Days like that would throw him back in the past and pull him in the present so fast that his mind would hurt. So many things had change in a single month, so much more was to come.

He still had a few more stops. He opened the zip of the case and took out the music sheet. He was working on a new song, it was a school project.

He smiled again.

That was one of the reasons why he didn’t care about what other people thought of his look, of his long black coat or his blonde hair parted in the middle. He had fought so much for that music sheet to be filled with his own notes, his own melodies. And nobody would have ever known. 

He put the sheet back in the guitar case and pushed the red button.

He got up, looked at her again. She was still looking at him again, even if she was trying to hide it.

Back then, he would have thought she had all the reasons to judge him, because he was bothering her with his look.

But now, now everything was different. Now he knew that his look was his own business and nobody had the right of judging it. Now he knew that bruises come from pleasing others as much as from standing for themselves. And that’s why he didn’t care how she would look at him. He didn’t have to please her, nor anyone else.

©thegirlinthe_dress

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The Guy with The Tie

He was putting on his tie, looking at his own image reflected by the glass.

He knew there were people watching him, but he didn’t care. There was too much on his mind to give that too much importance. It didn’t matter that he was in the middle of the street, in front of a bus stop. He just needed his clothes to look nice for the day. But even that didn’t seem to work out quite alright.

Damn, he couldn’t even tie properly. That was her fault, because she was used to do it for him every single morning. If she would have let him, at least once, now he wouldn’t have any problem.

He stopped, letting his arms go, annoyed at the tie and annoyed at himself.

Who was he kidding? He was incapable of doing it, that’s why she did it.

He tried again, slowly this time, pretending he hadn’t been struggling with it for the last fifteen minutes. He succeeded in achieving something decent and he decided to be happy with that. He put his jacket on and grabbed the suitcase and turned to the digital screen.

Thirteen minutes. Thirteen minutes until the bus came along.

He looked at his watch. He was going to be late.

He shrugged his shoulders and sat down.

The previous night had been horrible and he knew anyone could have told by the look on his face. It wasn’t the slightly purple under eye or his hair going a little crazy. It was his eyes, that caught his attention while looking at himself. He was sad. She kicked him out. How to blame her.

He looked at the street, as if some miracle could happen and the screen could have been mistaken. Wishful thinking. And the feeling came back. Together with the words.

I am sorry, he said to her, a million times. And he meant it every single one. He knew he wasn’t enough, but he had hoped for the best. Wishful thinking.

We can work this out. She had stopped crying then. Looking at him, he thought he had a real chance.

But he had made the mistake of saying that he was sorry again. And that was the moment when she threw the bottle of wine at him. The wine he had bought for her, the wine which had betrayed him. He never bought wine. There had to be a reason behind it.

He looked at his phone. No calls, no messages. Nothing.

He felt lonely. He spent the night at one of his friends’ house. He didn’t explain himself, he felt ashamed. And now, he felt lonely.

They were new for him, those feelings. He had trouble giving them a name, at first. He wouldn’t recognize them. But at last, he admitted to himself what they really were. And that only made it worse.

Eight minutes.

The time was going slowly. And he would have kept on going like that all day. Probably all week.

He hoped not all month. Damn, he could have not survived a whole month like that. A month without her.

He checked his phone again.

One message.

I am sorry.

It wasn’t her. It was the other her.

He smiled. A sad smile.

For the whole time, he didn’t know who to blame. He thought it was her fault, the girl who let him into her bed the other night. He thought it was the other girl’s fault, the one who kicked him out.

And now?

Now it was his own fault. But how to blame him? She was hot.

©thegirlinthe_dress

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The Girl on The Bus

She was waiting in the middle of the pavement for the bus to come along.

Not too close to the street, not too close to the bus stop.

Her heart beating fast. Why?
She put her right hand close to her chest, her eyes focused on that turn, where the bus was supposed to appear in three minutes, as the digital screen reminded everyone.

She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs. And then she let the warm go out.

Breath in, breath out.

That’s what her mother always says. There was no need of being nervous. But her heart seemed to disagree with her.

Breath in, breath out.

Again, trying to calm down  the sound of drums coming from inside her. She felt like it could be heard by anyone. She looked around. No, stop being ridiculous.  Nobody was looking at her, therefore her heart could not be that loud. Still, she could hear it perfectly pumping blood through her system.

The bus finally came into sight. She slightly smiled. The idea of starting the journey gave her false relief. It would have not be a long journey, after all. Twenty minutes tops, and she was going to be there.

Oyster in her hand, she then went up the stairs. She never sat on the lower floor. Weird people sat on the lower floor, while the top was always empty.

As soon as she reached her favourite spot, she moved her bag across and took some paper out.

Her eyes would move fast from one word to another, line after line. Her lips moving in sync with what her mind was reading.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply again. Her heart never stopped beating fast. But at least, she was moving. Soon, everything would have been over. That was something that would always gave her some form of comfort. Waiting on a bus stop gives you the impression of being steady, waiting for something to happen, waiting for life to pass by and pick you up. Now, she was moving forward. She was killing time, seconds were passing fast and she knew the end of those butterflies in her stomach was close.

Ten minutes gone.

Not long now. Her eyes went back to the paper. Then, out of the window.

It was time to stop revisiting the text and start working on herself.

No need of being nervous, no need of being anxious. It would have only made it worse.

She started focusing on the people she was seeing and the buildings around her.

Fifteen minutes gone.

She put the paper back in her bag. 

Next stop.

She started walking down the stairs. The bus was earlier today. Better this way.

She went off, the school in front of her.

It’s just a test.

She moved one foot, then the other.

Not long now, until she was going to put her future into a piece of paper.

 ©thegirlinthe_dress

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