The Bus: Part 2

     The man next to me wore a grey suit and carried a black briefcase. He was peering into a file folder labeled “Walton Enterprises”. He flipped through the contents for a while and stroked his chin. He stopped for a moment and rubbed his tired eyes. It seemed as if the man had spent many long hours in an office somewhere, lending to a slightly unkempt appearance and five-o-clock shadow. As the bus approached the International District, he stood up, readying his handful of change for the bus fare. The man shuffled toward the front of the bus, paid his fare, and stepped out into the brisk air. In reality, he may have stayed on the bus a while longer, but liked to walk the last few blocks when it wasn’t raining. His leather dress shoes hardly provided comfort while walking, and the air was cold, but he paid no mind as he passed the rows of apartments and small businesses. He thought back on the chaos of the week and was glad to be out of the office for the weekend. The man walked up the steps of his apartment building, which was one of the oldest buildings in the city. Others often asked, with knowledge of the man’s financial wellness, why he hadn’t chosen a grander residency. He would respond with a smile and a shrug and say, “my place has character”.

            The truth was, it had been six months since the divorce and he couldn’t seem to leave it. It was their place, and although her things were gone she still lingered there. Some nights he wondered if she’d be there when he opened the door, smiling and waiting for him with a hug. Or perhaps she’d be in the kitchen making them dinner and setting their table for two. Day after day he opened that door but she was nowhere to be found. On this particular day, the man sat in his chair and opened a drawer, shuffling around for a certain object. It was small but unmistakable and when he found it, he took it out and examined it. The ring was scratched but still shiny as ever, and he read the inscription on the inside. He wondered how it had ever left his finger, and how the inscription had ever become untrue. The man closed his eyes and imagined her giving him the ring with such excitement. He couldn’t help but laugh when he thought about her nervousness that he wouldn’t like it—it was perfect. He thought about the good times together and wondered if he’d ever find a love again. In the midst of these thoughts the phone rang, and the man was brought back to reality. He didn’t bother to answer and instead looked around at the picture-less walls and piles of only his laundry. It was then that the man from Walton Enterprises wished he were back on the bus, going nowhere in particular but just to escape for a while.