Route 20 Outbound

I sat on the crowded old bus, eager to get home after a long day of working in the city. My shoulders ached, my bad ankle was beginning to swell and I could not help but to stare longingly out of the finger-streaked window, eager to ignore the lined paper sitting unmarked in my lap. Despite my grievances, I managed to find solace in the notion that even with a bus full of people, the seat beside me remained unoccupied.

A hiss signaling departure escaped from underneath the vehicle. Confident that my solitude (as much solitude as one can get on public transit at 4 PM) was secure, I leaned my head against the glass and closed my eyes. The driver took his seat, closed the doors, and adjusted the mirrors in preparation for the trip. As his hand approached the brake, a loud slap came from the outside of the bus. The noise bounced violently off of the metal framing and pulled me from my psuedo-slumber. After a quick press of a button, the doors swung open and a short, rotund figure waddled onto the bus. I shot up and looked around to see what seats were available for this character to plop its body into. There was only one.

Without making eye contact, the figure lumbered down the aisle and forced itself into the open space next to me. I pulled my bag closer to my feet and slipped my notebook inside of it. I would need as much space as I could get. Being an avid people watcher, my curiosity got the best of me and I inspected this person from the corner of my eye.

It was a woman, with dark hair and dark eyes. Her greasy locks sat lazily upon her head, and her body was draped in a loosely fitting blood-red dress. She held nothing in her hands but a wilted flower. Although I would have preferred to sit alone, I was intrigued by this woman. But the perma-scowl that decorated her face suggested I keep all questions to myself. Since I was as equally unable to socialize as I was to relax, I decided to stare straight ahead, waiting for the bus to approach my stop.

“I hate this damn bus.”

A gravelly voice came from beside me. I turned my head slightly, just enough to acknowledge the speaker.

“Every time I get on here, it’s too hot and the drivers want to skimp you on the air.”

I was stunned, unsure if I should answer or not. I wanted to learn more...but at what cost? She spoke again.

“I came from a good family, ya know. Closest thing we had to royalty in those parts. But what good does it do me now? No one gives a damn about me anymore. But my sister? Oh-ho, she was always the favorite. Parents put her picture up everywhere, like she was some good luck charm. Me? They always said I was born to be miserable. Tried to avoid me every chance they got. Said I brought nothin’ but trouble.”

Was this it? My chance to speak? Before I could come up with something clever or inspirational, she continued on her rant.

“Lemme tell ya something, kid- sometimes bad shit follows you everywhere you go. From the day you’re born ’til the day you die. Hell, maybe if I’d left home sooner than I did, I coulda been happy. Or at least miserable on my own terms. Guess all I can do at this point is try to make it through each day with what little bit I got. Hey, pull that string for me. This is my stop.”

At her command, I pulled the bright yellow cord hanging along the window pane. As the bus slowed to a halt, I realized that the woman and I were getting off at the same place. I allowed her the time to rise from the seat and followed patiently behind as she lumbered off the bus in the same way she got on. I stepped onto the sidewalk and noticed she was headed in a different direction. I knew that if I did not say anything to her now, I would have lost my chance to say anything at all.

“Hey, uh...what’s your name?”

The woman turned to face me. The perma-scowl remained, but her dark eyes glimmered with amusement.

“My name? Been a long time since anyone cared ’bout that. ”

She took a step closer to me and extended the hand that had been grasping the wilted flower. She opened her palm and waited for me to take the brittle stem. I took it from her gently. Her scowl softened slightly as she spoke her final words.

“They call me Jyestha. And maybe you can do something with that. Gods know I’ve been carryin’ it around long enough. It’s a lotus flower. Family had ‘em everywhere when I was comin’ up.”

With that, Jyestha began to walk away. The manners enforced in my upbringing wanted desperately for me to say “Thanks, nice to meet you”, but I could not bring myself to lie. My encounter with Jyestha was unsettling. I felt suffocated (mentally and physically) for most of it, only to find refuge in her departure. But the lotus flower, however wilted it may have been, was a thoughtful gift from a woman who constantly expressed dismay. I knew I should at least thank her for that, and so I jerked my head up, hoping to catch her before she strayed too far.

I looked around to find that Jyestha was nowhere to be seen. The road was open and wide, with no large buildings or trees that would have obscured a clear view. All that I saw, standing only feet away from me, was a single crow. It cawed loudly in my direction and flew off into the afternoon sky. I watched its wings flap into the distance, and turned to begin my walk home.

I twirled the brittle stem between my fingers all the way back to my house, and pondered what I could create with such an unexpected gift. Even in all her inauspiciousness, Jyestha still found a way to shine a light into the day.