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sapphire_childTitle: Bus Surfing
Summary: On the side of the road on a December afternoon we could be the only two people left in the world. My second assignment for my Creative Writing class this semester.
Author's Note: For Blair. Happy 20th my darling.
~*~
On the side of the road on a December afternoon we could be the only two people left in the world and I wouldn’t even care. The CAT bus pulls in, brakes hissing and spitting like its namesake and we clamber on, jostling each other in our excitement.
It’s been so long since we first did this together.
The afternoon sun slants in through the tinted windows, a muted gold, and catches the flyaways from that eternal cowlick in your fringe and the yellow-blonde spikes of your ponytail. It’s no glowing halo that silhouettes you, more like a frizz of bleached straw but in the summer heat and the tangled wind it seems right.
As the bus begins to depart for another part of the harbour we grab onto the guard rails for dear life, leaning against each other with an easy companionship. Content that I’m not going to fall over, I turn my head just-so to glance at your profile.
I have to admit that you’re no great beauty, but I’ve spent so many hours cataloguing your freckles and marvelling at your sad, basset hound eyes that the familiarity more than makes up for it.
When you realise that I’m staring you turn to catch my gaze and grin. There’s a moment of silence, an unspoken agreement of now and together we step out into the aisle.
You move straight up to the front of the bus – a much harder vantage point for a much more experienced surfer. I tend to stay safely in the middle – there’s less sideways swing there as it turns corners. Or at least that’s my theory.
When you bus surf your front foot points straight forward, the back one twists to face the side and your knees bend to help ground you to the floor. We do just this with a practiced ease and immediately I’m aware that people are looking strangely at us as we shift our weight, balance ourselves with outstretched arms.
We must look ridiculous but its not as if we care. Well, I must look ridiculous anyway – you always make this look effortless. Watching you as we round a corner I lose my centre and I stumble, inciting a knowing grin from you as I right myself with the back rests of vacant seats.
Yeah, you saw me fall over. I flush. It’s not that you’ll gloat or anything, it’s just that I’m not really used to be being outdone by you in anything.
I take the next corner a little easier, I’m prepared this time, and I grin at the back of your head. Never mind that you didn’t see my awkward balancing act, I know that I’m getting better at corners and I’m kind of chuffed with myself.
When we begin to approach our stop you incline your head to me and I stagger down the aisle to meet you so we don’t get separated as we leave the bus. The only problem is I don’t judge it properly and as the bus comes to a halt I trip over my own shoes (bloody typical) and crash right into the back of you.
“Sorry,” I laugh, embarrassment flooding my cheeks with pink as we clatter towards the front of the bus together my hands resting on your shoulders. “Didn’t mean to knock you over.”
“Oh calm down,” you dig me in the ribs as we jump down to the pavement and then you reach out and sling an arm around my shoulders, ruffle my hair, grin madly. “You’re tiny – I barely even felt you hit me.”
We both grin at that and you reach for my hand and grasp it tightly, ready to drag me off to another adventure.
~*~
I forget sometimes just how much I miss her – how much I miss the in-between moments that we used to share. We still slip into our old rhythm when we speak on the phone, new stories blending seamlessly with old memories, half forgotten jokes and old friends coming to mind with an exclamation of “Remember…?”
But there’s also a space between us, vast and deep. She’s half a world away from me, and I haven’t seen her since January when she fell, scrambled desperately into the corner and screamed blue murder at the world.
And I couldn’t help her.
When she gets like that she frightens me. I think I’m kind of terrified of her. Or rather, I’m terrified of losing her. She’s always been a skilled tight tope walker, but lately she seems to be falling off more and more. There always seems to be something going wrong with her, while everything is right with me. It doesn’t seem fair that someone with such an honest heart should have to feel so much pain.
More than anything I want her to come home to me. Home where she can be safe, where we can catch busses together and pretend like we’re still seventeen and utterly stupid and loving each other the way only two best friends can.
I miss those days – those moments where we could have been the only two people left in the world and that was enough.
Summary: On the side of the road on a December afternoon we could be the only two people left in the world. My second assignment for my Creative Writing class this semester.
Author's Note: For Blair. Happy 20th my darling.
On the side of the road on a December afternoon we could be the only two people left in the world and I wouldn’t even care. The CAT bus pulls in, brakes hissing and spitting like its namesake and we clamber on, jostling each other in our excitement.
It’s been so long since we first did this together.
The afternoon sun slants in through the tinted windows, a muted gold, and catches the flyaways from that eternal cowlick in your fringe and the yellow-blonde spikes of your ponytail. It’s no glowing halo that silhouettes you, more like a frizz of bleached straw but in the summer heat and the tangled wind it seems right.
As the bus begins to depart for another part of the harbour we grab onto the guard rails for dear life, leaning against each other with an easy companionship. Content that I’m not going to fall over, I turn my head just-so to glance at your profile.
I have to admit that you’re no great beauty, but I’ve spent so many hours cataloguing your freckles and marvelling at your sad, basset hound eyes that the familiarity more than makes up for it.
When you realise that I’m staring you turn to catch my gaze and grin. There’s a moment of silence, an unspoken agreement of now and together we step out into the aisle.
You move straight up to the front of the bus – a much harder vantage point for a much more experienced surfer. I tend to stay safely in the middle – there’s less sideways swing there as it turns corners. Or at least that’s my theory.
When you bus surf your front foot points straight forward, the back one twists to face the side and your knees bend to help ground you to the floor. We do just this with a practiced ease and immediately I’m aware that people are looking strangely at us as we shift our weight, balance ourselves with outstretched arms.
We must look ridiculous but its not as if we care. Well, I must look ridiculous anyway – you always make this look effortless. Watching you as we round a corner I lose my centre and I stumble, inciting a knowing grin from you as I right myself with the back rests of vacant seats.
Yeah, you saw me fall over. I flush. It’s not that you’ll gloat or anything, it’s just that I’m not really used to be being outdone by you in anything.
I take the next corner a little easier, I’m prepared this time, and I grin at the back of your head. Never mind that you didn’t see my awkward balancing act, I know that I’m getting better at corners and I’m kind of chuffed with myself.
When we begin to approach our stop you incline your head to me and I stagger down the aisle to meet you so we don’t get separated as we leave the bus. The only problem is I don’t judge it properly and as the bus comes to a halt I trip over my own shoes (bloody typical) and crash right into the back of you.
“Sorry,” I laugh, embarrassment flooding my cheeks with pink as we clatter towards the front of the bus together my hands resting on your shoulders. “Didn’t mean to knock you over.”
“Oh calm down,” you dig me in the ribs as we jump down to the pavement and then you reach out and sling an arm around my shoulders, ruffle my hair, grin madly. “You’re tiny – I barely even felt you hit me.”
We both grin at that and you reach for my hand and grasp it tightly, ready to drag me off to another adventure.
I forget sometimes just how much I miss her – how much I miss the in-between moments that we used to share. We still slip into our old rhythm when we speak on the phone, new stories blending seamlessly with old memories, half forgotten jokes and old friends coming to mind with an exclamation of “Remember…?”
But there’s also a space between us, vast and deep. She’s half a world away from me, and I haven’t seen her since January when she fell, scrambled desperately into the corner and screamed blue murder at the world.
And I couldn’t help her.
When she gets like that she frightens me. I think I’m kind of terrified of her. Or rather, I’m terrified of losing her. She’s always been a skilled tight tope walker, but lately she seems to be falling off more and more. There always seems to be something going wrong with her, while everything is right with me. It doesn’t seem fair that someone with such an honest heart should have to feel so much pain.
More than anything I want her to come home to me. Home where she can be safe, where we can catch busses together and pretend like we’re still seventeen and utterly stupid and loving each other the way only two best friends can.
I miss those days – those moments where we could have been the only two people left in the world and that was enough.
