Bus Stop
by Armando Ortiz
It was a foggy morning, and the mocking birds were singing. Yolanda could hear their coos and tweets a few minutes before the alarm clock began to ring. The digital numbers looked like red matchsticks lined up and organized to read 5:30 am. She awoke and stretched her arms a bit as if she were a cat that’s been napping for hours under the warm sun. Her feet touched the hardwood floor and felt the chill of the long night. The bathroom was next door and there she took a shower. Steam engulfed the bathroom and clouded the windows and mirror. As the towel cleared her legs of water droplets she remembered his words.
Standing in front of the mirror and moving the towel around her body, his words echoed within the walls of the home, “Every time I look at you, I see the pouring maple syrup I’d put on my morning waffles.”
The long slow words with that deep voice brought a smile. After brushing her teeth and putting on some lotion, she made her way to the front door of the small bungalow home, opening the door and reaching for the newspaper. Dew blanketed the grass with beads of water, the car windows were covered with a thin layer of grey moisture, like the frost that would build on the windows of the school bus. She walked back inside, and across the living room where there was a bookshelf at one end that contained numerous books, along with a collection of photographs that had been taken in the past fifteen years.
The routine was normal procedure and after a coffee and toast with raspberry jam, she would dress up, step outside once again to get in the car. The car was a simple sports sedan purchased a few years back when she’d decided to treat herself to something nice. Today though, the car wasn’t turning on. It wasn’t something new; it usually would start up on the third try and eventually stutter and warm up to a fine hum. The battery light on the dashboard flickered a pale red signal, the voltage gauge was very low. The keys kept being turned inside the ignition, but the only sound coming from the car was a tattering tat tater that suggested that a different mode of transportation would have to be used. She returned to the adobe-like house, and called her brother, Bryce. He was sleeping and lived about an hour away, so asking for a ride was out of the question, but she’d ask him to come check her car in the afternoon.
The phone call startled him awake, and as the eyes began to open and his head turned and peered out the window - a hummingbird was piercing a scarlet painted bristle brush plant. As the tiny bird found the sweet nectar it noticed a sudden movement from within the apartment room, and then a set of eyes began observing. The ruffled spec of feathers continued with its own routine.
“I’ll be there as soon as I have breakfast,” Bryce’s voice soothed away any worries.
Now the main concern was getting to work. She walked out of her one story house again. It was barely 6:30 in the morning and the fog wouldn’t disappear till around 11am. The cool humid air caressed any one’s face and brought a slight shiver to all living beings, though by the afternoon the weather would warm up, so she decided not to take a sweater. Opting to take the bus to downtown Los Angeles, she walked three blocks south to Slauson and looked left and right to see where the nearest bus stop was. She turned right and walked towards La Brea noticing a black phoebe jumping on branches and making bird sounds. The trip downtown usually took 30 minutes driving on the street, but today it would probably take 45 minutes to one hour. Luckily before leaving the house for the last time, she had called the office and informed the head supervisor of Child Services of arriving late. It was ok with him and told her to take her time. She was always on time and the few times that she’d missed work she’d actually showed up but visibly sick, so she’d be sent back home to take a rest.
Yolanda arrived at the bus stop and sat down on the wooden bench that had been painted a deep forest green. The morning traffic was picking up and with every red light more cars would make a unified stop. Traffic was heading east. Quick glances were taken of the people driving their cars or the passengers that were inside. She’d already seen a few kids that were being driven to school. Some didn’t look that excited to be heading there, while others leaned their heads on the glass that allow spectators to see them dozing off with their eyes closed. Some of the parents driving the kids wore uniforms of all kinds, and she wondered if they too were going to work or coming back from a long night of work inside some air conditioned building that perpetually hummed. She hadn’t really put much thought to her attire and to standing at the bus stop, but soon began to hear whistles coming from indistinct places, and felt as if she were in that Dali film, being watched by a thousand eyes. She grabbed her bag and pulled it closer, and pressed it to the body as if it was a child’s safety blanket.
The solid red light brought traffic to a stop. Some of the faces inside turned to look at her, and despite the closed windows and all the different barriers separating the driver from where she was sitting it created uneasiness from within. She imagined her clothes being torn and thrown to the ground. She continued looking towards the East, and occasionally would turn to look West to see if the bus was coming, but none was in sight. She caught the glances of the stares and for some reason the image of a salivating creature with giant eyes crossed her mind, like a street cat creeping up on an innocent mouse. She tried to focus and decided to get up from the bench, and noticed the long wooden planks covered in dew. Now she stood behind the precarious bus stop bench. Her silver wristwatch read 6:48. Only 10 minutes had passed. Reaching into her leather bag, she pulled out a small booklet, opened it and wrote some lines, and quickly put it back inside. The thought of standing behind the back rest and covering herself would bring a temporary halt to the sounds and eyes that were disrobing her would immediately disappear, but from the other side of the intersection there were occasional honks. Maybe it was a person late to work and trying to maneuver through the slow cars.
A grey conservative suit clothed the body, and her finger nails along with lips were covered in a deep strawberry, his favorite color. He’d call her his chocolate covered strawberry when wearing anything that was a deep red. Her eyes were like those found in the mosaics of Pompeii. Being of medium height, with additional 3 inch heels gave people the impression that she was much taller, which brought unwarranted attention.
Suddenly the rasp of a broom made her turn around to see who was there. The gas station attendant was sweeping the ground and picking up wrappers and receipts left over from the night’s customers. They both made eye contact. He briefly stopped and waved after he recognized her. He’d been working at that station for 4 years and knew all the regular customers of the neighborhood.
“Good morning! How are you today?,” he said.
“I’m fine, just running a bit late to work,” Yolanda replied.
“What happened to your car?,” he inquired while walking towards her. He wore a blue work suit with an orange traffic vest.
“Aw, it wouldn’t start up, so I called Bryce to take a look at the thing. It had been giving me some problems for the last few months, but I never thought it would die on me,” she seemed a bit resigned to the fact now.
“Well, all problems have a solution ma'am. Look, the bus is coming,” he said as he pointed to the approaching bus.
“Thanks Pedro, I’ll see you around,” she turned around and stepped inside the bus, but not before waving goodbye. As she turned around to face the driver, and boarded the bus, her booklet fell out of the purse landing on the sidewalk. Some days start off slow, but end up being long journeys.
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