Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner continued

This is the story that won:

People watching

The whole world stand silent but, I can still hear muffled voices and shuffling feet. It’s almost dark as my eye lids shut slowly. Are they closed yet? I can’t tell, I’m so tired. The Beatles blare in my ears. “Take a sad song and make it better…” when suddenly, the world abruptly stops and the sound of automatic doors opening is heard amongst the “Nah Nah Nah NahNahNahNah Nahhhh’s” and a hand touches my shoulder. I look up and an old woman stand above me keeping her balance. That’s when I remember, I’m on a bus. A bus home.

“Excuse me,” she says “do you mind if I sit here with you? I don’t think I can stand much longer. Weak knees you know.”

Her voice is as weak as her alleged knees. A raspy kind of voice like blowing into a flute and almost getting a smooth note but, it skips.

“Oh! Yes of course, I’m so sorry!” I manage to spit out in the rush of moving my bag off the seat and pulling headphones out of my ears.

“Thank you dear.” She says, climbing into the seat and setting down her stereotypical carpet bag you’d see any woman her age carrying close to her like a prized treasure.

I put my headphones back in but hit pause. I take the time to people watch. I find public transit a good place for this and I see I’m still far from my apartment complex on the west end of town.

A teenage mother juggles two baby boys. Tyrone and Caleb I assume are their names since that’s what she keeps yelling as she tries to keep them from pulling the stop-request-cord above the seats.

A middle aged woman with a cliché perm reads a novel but, not contently as she keeps peering over the top of her book at the younger man in the seats parallel from me. He’s short, but well dressed.

A boy and girl just a bit younger than me sit in the seats at the far back. They talk about high school. About how fun it will be. I don’t think they’re dating because when he looks at her there is no chemistry and no passion of young love. He makes rude jokes, ones that do not impress girlfriends.

Other than that and the driver, Derek, the bus is empty. Most people tend to get of at the plaza a few stops back.

“People watching?” The old woman next to me chirps in with a devious kind of smile.

“I’m…I’m sorry. What?” I say back a little surprised. Was I being so obvious?

“Are you people watching?” She repeats.

“Oh…yea. I’m sorry.” I say embarrassed. I can feel my cheeks getting hot with blush.

“It’s quite alright dear. I do it too.”

“You could tell then?”

“As clear as day. I can see you processing it all in your head.”

“Guess I’m going to have to be more sneaky about it then, huh?” I have a stupid half smile on my face. I can feel it.

“That’s how I met my husband, you know?” Her eyes glaze over.

“People watching? How romantic!”

“Yes, it was. I was going to school to be a nurse. I spent my lunches in the park watching the people that came and went. One day Robert, my husband, sat down next to me on the marble bench. “People watching?” he said and the rest is history.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yes, but it has a bitter ending. Robert had a stroke a few years ago, weak heart and all. He didn’t make it.” The glaze in her eyes fades. They look more sad now, more grey.

“I’m so sorry.” I say trying to sound as sympathetic as possible without feeling like just another sorry soul.

“Thank you hon. He’s in a better place and one day I’ll join him,” her face is bright with joy, but her eyes stay grey, “well my stop,” the bus eases to the corner, “take care dear.” And she leaves.

I look around again. The teenage mother, the kids in the back, the perm, the young man and Derek. What’s their story?

Does the mother have a husband or even a boyfriend?

Does the boy in the back have a crush on the girl?

Did the perm lose someone close to her too?

Is the young man gay?

How long has Derek driven this bus for?

I see my apartment complex over the hill. I reach for the stop-requested-cord, but pull back. Five new people get on the bus where I should be getting off. No one sits next to me. Instead they each take a seat where they can be alone and unsocial and disconnected from the world. A girl who looks to be about my age sits near me. Her eyes dart from me to the perm. I can see her thoughts process.

I get up and ease into the empty spot next to her and say,

“People watching?”

FIN