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Fiction Short Story

by Libby Orendorff

The Bus Ride

Same sound as always, a loud hiss and the bus comes to a stop, diesel fumes covering the passengers waiting to board. That poor elderly lady needs help getting on. How can she carry that heavy shopping bag? She's bent near double with arthritis. I wonder if the buffalo hump hurts. Not to be mean, but she looks like a character out of Harry Potter with her white wiry hair sticking out and the only tooth in her head protruding when she smiles, which is all the time. Nice to be happy. I bet she lives alone and has no one to take her for groceries or to the doctor, thus public transportation.

Ugh, this seat is sticky. And the window makes me sick. Kids have pressed their noses against it and left streaks of snot.

Bus rides are so interesting with all the different types of people. I check everyone out and imagine what each person's life is like. Why, one could be a serial killer, another a rich eccentric. Who knows?

The poor young Hispanic woman two seats down. Can't control her two boys, fighting and jumping up and down. The baby carried in a pouch in front pulls her head and shoulders in a painful bend. She looks worn to the bone with frazzled nerves. I believe a vacation, maybe a week at a spa, would fix her right up. But I bet her husband works at the chicken plant in Van Buren and they barely make rent and groceries.

I could go for that tall good-looking young man about mid-way down. His bright and sparkling blue eyes keep looking at me.  Maybe he's interested. I'd like to run my hands through his long dark curly hair; I can feel his full, sensual lips on my mouth, tickling my ear and running down my neck. Oh, chill bumps just thinking about it.

What would a date with him be like? I bet he'd take me to dinner in a romantic restaurant, candles and soft music, a violin playing at our table. He'd hold my hand and play with my fingers while nudging my leg with his knee. Afterwards we'd walk in the moonlight, maybe play in the only public fountain Fort Smith has.  He'd take me home and kiss me goodnight, with a promise to take me to breakfast.

I know we'd become inseparable, seeing each other daily.  He'd enjoy hiking and exploring new places with me. Within three months, he'd present me with an emerald ring and ask me to marry him and become the mother of his children.

Yes, we'd have a wonderful life together. I'll smile at him. Maybe he'll sit by me.

Shucks, here's my stop. I have to get off. Oh, boy, he's getting off, too. Now's my chance.

He's taking my arm. Yes, he is interested. Now if I play my cards right, maybe.

"Did you enjoy your ride?" he said.

"I did."

"How were your memories, the same or better?"

"I fell in love with you all over again, only this time I thought you'd give me an emerald ring."

"Let's go to the restaurant and see what you get for our first anniversary."


About the Author
Libby Orendorff is a nurse who lives in the country with her husband and two cats. She enjoys her grandchildren, gardening, camping and reading. Her publishing credits are with StoryTeller and her local newspaper. An article by Libby will be published in Ozarks Mountaineer next March.