[ the baby ] [ things i did not tell you; things that are lies ] [ the music ] [ the furher ] [ love will tear us apart again: an extended metaphor of the physical manifestation of a broken heart, or a bloody requiem for the might have been ] [ white space ] [ how to disappear completely ] [ sorry ] [ bus stop ]quasi-fiction
[ the garbage train ] [ dissertation on the concept of forever starting tonight, explained in the second person, to an ex-lover, a best friend, and the man in the astor place subway station who asked me for a nickel (or a true story that is 43% lies and 0% plot) ] [ breakup vignettes ]
Bus Stop
Three women sat in a row on the bench underneath the bus stop's little weather hutch. Robin nearly went to sit on the end of the bench--it was windy and just barely drizzling and it was very cold--but something stopped him. It might have been the look on the face of the left-most woman, the one he would have sat beside had he indeed sat. It was not quite a smile, but it involved an upturning of the corners of her mouth. Not a sneer, either, because her face remained so otherwise still. Yet, malevolent. Her lips were a bright and shiny lipstick maroon. Too big. Two slabs of raw meat. The other two women also had these lips. They all stared at Robin, slightly askance. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the hutch, as far from them as he could be without completely exposing himself to the weather.
It was late. He was late again. It was nearly nine. He'd promised Sarah he'd be home for dinner, for once, and dinner was at seven. He could picture her sighing and carrying a whining and snotty Bethie to her bath. Bethie had had this cold for nearly two weeks. Robin kept telling Sarah to take her to the pediatrician, and Sarah kept not doing it. She couldn't take the time off, she said. You do it. She said it in a dangerous tone, the one she used when Robin neglected to do household chores or his share of the cooking, the one that he knew meant that the fact that she was the mother and he was the father, that she was the woman and he the man, did not make it so that she was the obvious choice to take time off work and take Bethie to the doctor. And Robin, of course, sighed too, to himself, and Bethie did not go to the doctor. She'd be fine.
He couldn't believe he'd broken his promise again. Late. Again. He looked at his hands. They were shriveled and freezing. Pale and small-looking in this light. He'd forgotten to put his wedding band back on. Maybe he'd get home so late that Sarah would be sleeping. There was no good way to explain the wedding band. He put his hands back in his coat pockets and made fists. No, Sarah would always wait up.
Robin started from his thoughts. The women on the bench had laughed. They had laughed in unison. He couldn't help turning around, trying to keep the paranoia off his face. But what else would they be laughing at, besides him? They were all perfectly silent before. Nothing had happened. Just the wind and the drizzle and the bus not arriving. He looked at them.
"Hey, stud," said the middle one, the sarcasm a syrup nearly dripping down her chin, which was strong and square.
He raised his left hand in a half-hearted gesture. A good-humored gesture, he hoped. "Hey there." He tried to sound light, sans discomfort.
They laughed in unison again. It was mid-pitched and abstract, like a laugh track on a sitcom.
"Going home?" the middle one again. Her eyes moved in an exaggerated side to side motion. From left woman to right woman. As though to say, can you believe this guy. Can you.
"Um... yes." He smiled a tight-lipped smile.
"Hahaha." This time, the middle woman laughed alone. As though her laugh were a sentence. "Park Slope. I'm sure."
He was disconcerted that she'd guessed his neighborhood. But after all, he quickly reasoned, that's where this bus went. She could only choose from six or seven neighborhoods. A lucky guess. He smiled again, nodded a little nod.
Robin turned around to face the street again. He looked at his watch as a gesture of boredom, as a gesture to demonstrate that he was completely nonplussed. The bus was late. It was supposed to come at 8:48. It was now 8:56. Sarah was going to roll her eyes at him and sit stony-faced across from him as he guiltily ate a cold dinner. He would ask her questions and she'd answer with single words. He'd tell her that he was sorry and she'd groan and lean back in her chair. She'd shake her head and smile bitterly in a way that he knew meant there isn't enough sorry in the world. Late every night for nearly a year. And for what. She knew it wasn't for work. He knew she knew it wasn't for work. There was never any lipstick on the collar, and there were never any hushed phone calls or weird hanging-upsÐhe would never be so stupid or so insulting to allow such thingsÐbut there was an ineffable other presence in the room. There isn't enough sorry in the world.
"What do you think happens if he's late?" one of the women said to the others. Don't turn around, he thought. Ignore them.
"I bet his wife gets so mad." Laughter.
"I bet she has curly, brown hair. I bet she's in publishing."
Sarah's hair was more auburn than brown. But it was curly. Well, wavy. The publishing was right on. Robin hugged his arms to his chest.
"I bet he has a kid. A baby. A baby girl." They laughed in unison again. This time he couldn't help turning around to face them again.
"Okay, what is this?"
They stared at him with upturned lips. The pleased nonsmile. He felt disproportionately angry.
"Some kind of joke?" He raised his eyebrows, made a questioning gesture with his hands. As though to say, whatever. Whatever or "what?" or just an oh. "Well, what?" he asked lamely, when faced only with more staring and silence.
"You can turn back around," said the middle woman.
"Yes, please do." The left-most woman. She bugged her eyes at him and scrunched her nose.
"Stop looking at us," chimed the right-most woman. S...he was the prettiest of the three, and the fattest, though she was not very fat at all. The other two were just emaciated. Her eyes were a startlingly yellow color.
Robin opened and closed his mouth several times. At a loss for words, he turned around again. The bus should come soon.
"I don't think the bus is running today," one of the women said. Robin couldn't tell which; their voices were nearly identical.
"Then why is he standing here waiting for it?"
"Yeah. I thought he was so responsible. He'd know if his bus wasn't running."
Robin whirled around again. "If it's not running, why are you waiting for it?"
They laughed in unison again. They showed no sign of stopping.
"Well, why?" Robin's brain told him to stop interacting. This was pointless. These three women did not matter. He was not going to allow them to disconcert him. If he felt uncomfortable, it was his own fault. He was merely uncomfortable because he was late. Because he was late and because of his reason for being late. He turned to face the street again and vowed to remain in that position until the bus arrived.
"Sarah's going to be so mad."
Sarah's name! One of them said her name! How...? He nearly turned around again. But he didn't. A vow to himself. That is a vow one must keep. He held himself in place and tried to think of other things. The weather. It was bad. Work. It was busy. Three meetings tomorrow and he was unprepared for all of them. He was supposed to stay late and go over the Grace files. That had been the plan. But then. Oh, God, he hated himself. He couldn't believe it. Not again. But yes. He supposed he left the wedding band in the unused ashtray on her desk. She kept it around in case any important clients wanted to smoke. But no one ever had. He supposed all the men left their wedding bands there, if they even deigned to take them off. He had never even entertained the idea that he was her only. Though he did wonder if he was the only one who removed his wedding band.
It made him feel like a decent guy.
Laughter behind him again.
A decent guy, my ass, he thought. My ass. He had a daughter. What kind of father was he? What kind of person does this? A sick daugher, he thought melodramatically. I deserve a plague on my house. He made a vow to himself, another one, to take a half-day off work and bring Bethie to the pediatrician. She'd been sniffling for so long. Maybe something was really wrong. It was making her cranky, too. This morning she'd had a tantrum as soon as she woke up, and later, when he'd kissed her goodbye, she'd screamed and screamed. Bethie was usually affable. As a baby, she'd hardly cried at all, and just always gazed around calmly with her wide blue eyes. That was it. Tomorrow, he'd take Bethie to the doctor. Maybe Sarah would appreciate it. Maybe she'd even forgive. Not enough sorry in the world, though. He knew.
It was 9:09.
"He should just walk," one of the women said.
"Why don't you just walk?" he called to them, turning his head slightly to the side.
"Honey, we're not going anywhere."
"Well, that is, unless he goes somewhere."
"Yeah. If you go, we go."
Laughter. So canned and dense and harsh.
It was ridiculous. He had half a mind to call the police, or at least threaten to, but for what? They hadn't harmed him. He was just oversensitive today, he knew. Ill at ease. An easy target. Just a few crazy old bats with rotting-meat-mouths and ugly laughs. He'd be fine and he wasn't going to make it a big deal.
But he wanted to know why. A constant, though: he always wanted to know why. Why they targeted him for this. Why she targeted him for that. She knew he was married. She'd even met Sarah at the holiday party last year. Complimented her dress. It was glittery and black. When he and Sarah had gotten home, and were undressing, Sarah had said "I think that woman likes you."
"What?"
"That woman. She likes you. I can tell."
"What woman?"
"The pretty one with the big tits. They're fake, by the way."
"Who?" he'd known full well who.
"Redhead."
"Huh," he'd said. Stepped out of his pants. "Do I need to wash these yet?"
Glare. "Damned if I know. They're your pants."
"Well, what do you think?"
"Stop changing the subject."
"What?"
"That woman likes you, and everyone can tell."
"I couldn't tell."
"I could."
"How?"
"She complimented my dress."
"So?"
"It's a piece of shit, Robin. And she knew it. She was asserting power over me. I know how women work. I am one."
"What?" He was a little drunk, and so was Sarah.
"She had to pretend to be nice to me to make an overt show of not being a threat, of not being competition. Of us being friendly friends. I don't buy that bullshit." Sarah always cursed profusely when she was threatened. It made her sound tough and butch, which Robin secretly found cute from someone so tiny and delicate. "Mmm, I love your dress! It's so cute ! Where'd you get it!? I really just love it! You're so adorable in it! I wish I could pull off something so revealing!" She'd put on a fake voice. "Like fucking middle school."
"Um,"
"Don't play dumb."
"I'm not. I don't know what to say. What the hell. I'm sorry?"
Sarah's eyes had nearly rolled out of their sockets. "Don't fucking apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault she wants you." She stepped closer to him. She was only wearing panties. Purple. "I don't blame her, honestly." She kissed him, hard. "Just promise me..."
"I promised you when we got married."
"Okay."
And that was it. Dropped.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
And the three women were laughing even harder now.
9:17.
Maybe he could call a cab.
"Don't think about calling a cab! We can't all fit comfortably!"
"Maybe he could sit in the front."
"But I want us all to sit together!"
He pulled out his phone. Not a cab. But he should call Sarah. Speed dial one. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. No answer. She must be so angry. Her famous and formidable wrath. He'd mine the world's sorry mines for all the sorries, if he could. He'd take a spaceship to other worlds and take all their sorries too. He'd go back in time and rake in ancient sorries, before they were used. But he knew even that would not be enough.
She had to know. She had to.
Oh, God.
He couldn't wait at this bus stop anymore. The laughing and the calling out. It wasn't doing him any good. His apartment was only a twenty minute walk away. He could do it. It was just that it was so cold and wet. His wool coat was already giving off that strange smell.
"I think he's leaving!"
"Well, get up. We have to go too!"
"Can't we just wait here, for him to come back?"
"He won't come back."
"Oh, he will."
"Shut up!" Robin yelled.
They laughed, of course.
He walked eastward. The laughing followed him. Step, step, step. They walked in unison. Their feet clicked precisely, as though they were wearing tap dance shoes.
"Leave me alone," he called.
"Honey, we simply can't."
"We're going home with you."
"We'll stay in the parlor,"
"I don't have a fucking parlor."
"We'll make one!"
More laughter. How he hated it.
The women were coming closer to him. He felt pressured to walk faster, to run. But how undignified. He couldn't show fear. His fear was irrational. Just three silly ladies. At least their presence would distract Sarah, he thought. She couldn't be mad about anything if he'd been followed home by these three. Maybe he could find a way to make them his excuse for being so late.
"Don't hold your breath, baby," one of the women said, too close to his ear. Her voice was breathy and he was repulsed by the intimacy. He could hear her meat-lips smacking with every word. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Another on his back. Another reaching around to his stomach. Inside his shirt.
"We want to walk closely with you," said another, in his other ear. Smack smack. "Just keep walking and keep breathing."
He tried to scream, but he couldn't make a sound.
"Shhhh."
"Keep walking. And breathing."
He did. He walked and he breathed all the way home.