Written by Kelsey Smith
Illustrated by Stellanie Abella
"There is another dimension In this world, That transcends all time and space: The bus."
BUS #1883 – 7:23 PM
There is another dimension
In this world
That transcends all time and space:
The bus.
You may wonder why
I say this
About this interdimensional traveler.
The minutes span into days
Then weeks
Then months.
You believe this is an exaggeration?
That I’m being dramatic?
Then you have not ridden the bus.
Time works differently here.
The minute I hopped on
That fateful night,
The sun has barely set
And I go into the jungle
Of grimy bars and dirty seats
Where one touch can grant you a new disease
Unheard of to humankind.
I sit in the seat near the engine,
The hated seat
That sane people avoid at all costs.
I take a breath
And lean my head against the window.
My fingers shake
My heart
Pounds
Deep in my chest
Brewing,
With anger.
He will be there
At the end of the line.
After fourteen years
My brother and I will see each other
For the first time
Face to face.
After all the research abroad for stupid rocks,
After all the excuses,
After promising to come
And missing my wedding
He calls it quits
And moves back to the states,
Texting me to pick him up
From the airport.
And tells me to bring an old piece of flint.
I reach into my pocket
And pass the granola bar
To feel the dull rock
He gave me all those years ago.
One of the rocks that made our campfires
On those summer nights.
I take a breath
And stare out the window.
The thing that stinks about the
Bus is that
Once you get on,
You can’t get off until the
It stops.
I sigh.
It’s going to be a long 8 minutes…or years.
Bus Rule Number One
One out of the three rules I have
Learned from riding:
Time works against people on the bus
And time is working for Randy,
But once I see him
At the airport
He’s a dead man.
And now I’m on the bus
Because of him.
I started saving for a car
After someone
Started dancing on the seat
Then started to sing a parody
To Wheels on the Bus.
Wheels on the Seat
Unfortunately didn’t
Win any awards.
And unfortunately for me
My car broke down after work
And Tyler had to work late.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to deal with this
Even though he married into my crazy family.
Another thing Randy didn’t care about.
The bus stops.
The last stop before mine
The last stop before Randy.
Trash and an unidentifiable fruit
rolls down
the dirt-stained floors.
to the front.
No one even flinches.
Everyone except
Three squeezed into
The back seats
leaves.
Two young people,
A brother and sister
Shove each other off
Laughing and giggling.
The sister unaware that
He would move away
And leave her all alone
Without any other family
To escape
On a Geology Expedition in the Andes.
I take my rock out,
Its searing cold
Combing over my palm.
A vein popped from my forehead as I
Threw it on the floor.
I don’t need to bring this to Randy.
I don’t even need to get off this bus.
The bus doors start to close.
Suddenly a random man with a chicken on his shoulder
Whishes through the doors.
He surveys the bus
And waves through the aisle
And plops right down next to me.
When the rest of the bus is empty.
I give a grin then I look away.
The chicken screams,
Flapping its wings up and down.
I give a glance at the chicken.
The man doesn’t try to calm the bird.
He picks up the flint from the floor
tossing it up and down,
Babbling,
“My chicken’s name is Sigmund Freud.
After the great chicken psychologist...”
I clench my pen.
Bus Rule Number Two
People never talk on the bus.
Bus Rule Number Three
Those who talk on the bus have never ridden the bus
Or are crazy.
The chicken gave a snort and the man nodded.
“You’re so right!”
I glance at the other three
In the back.
No reaction
To a man talking to a chicken.
“Sigmund was telling just the other night
that time is relative.
It seems so long
Yet is so short.
Like riding this confined
Public transportation vehicle.
We try to make it
Go by quickly,
Which just makes the
Ride longer.
That’s why we distract ourselves
From our feelings
About time we have,
Especially the people
We do
And don’t spend it with.”
I fix my eyes on the floor
The man
Or the chicken
Was right.
About The Rules of Bus Time and Space
About Randy.
He kept on talking,
“And our distractions
Are a way of distracting our feelings.
Like my good friend
Sigmund.
Mmmm chicken. Fried chicken.”
The chicken pecks his shoulder.
“Sorry, Sigmund. The vegetarian diet isn’t going well for me.
Have this.”
The chicken pecks at the flint,
Taking it in his beak and holds it high
About to swallow it whole,
Confirming Bus Rules Two and Three
Even more.
“Wait!” I look at the man.
He raises a brow.
My heart skips a beat.
“Can I have that?”
He plucked it from the chicken’s beak
And shines it with his knuckles.
“It was on the floor. Finders keepers.”
“It’s my brother’s.”
“Sigmund deserves the best.
So unless you have anything else…”
“Take this.” I jumble out
My granola bar
Which was going to be my dinner.
“Deal.” He takes the granola,
But dangles the rock over my hand.
“Though answer one question for me.”
“Which is?” I squeak.
I look ahead.
The bus sign shines in the twilight.
Two minutes to go.
But Bus Rule One is in effect
Time works against you
Or in this case,
Me.
“Do you think my Sigmund would make Vegas?
He’s one heck of a singer.”
“Anything can happen,” I lie.
Even though a singing chicken
Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to perform at Vegas.
“Thanks for the advice.
I’ll be taking the bus all the way to Vegas then.”
He drops the flint in my palm.
“Best of luck.”
I smile.
The bus turns back after this
And head East
To the other side of town
A thousand miles
away from Vegas.
The bus stops.
I jump from my seat without thought
I get off and he’s there.
Randy with his long scruffy face
Baggy and sad eyes.
He stands there
And looks at me
In silence.
Then, he talks,
“I’m sorry. I missed your wedding.
I was busy with research.”
I say nothing,
Resisting the urge
To strangle him
To punch in the gut
Like he did to me
For missing
My wedding
And every time something good happened
Over the last fourteen years.
“Jordyn! Say something!
Do something!”
I fling the flint at his feet.
He picks it up.
“My flint? You’ve kept it
All these years?
I didn’t think you’d bring it.
I just wanted to see if you did.
If you cared enough—"
“Of course I do Randy,
We’re brother and sister.
Anyways you do need
two flints to make a campfire
or roast marshmallows.”
He brings his flint out and
Places in it in my hand.
“This time I’m staying.
No more research.
No more missing anything.
I’m back. For good.”
My lips quiver.
I clench the
Flint so hard
That its
Burning cold
Hardens my fingers.
“How can I even
Know
That you will keep your word?”
“You don’t
And you have every right to.
I’ve been the worst
Brother in the world.”
I mutter under my breath,
“The worst brother
In the universe.”
“Yes!” he yells
With a chuckle,
“You were
Always the smart one.”
“Were?” I raise a brow.
“Are,” he says.
I hug him.
Tears stream down my face.
I have my brother back.
“I’ll get you back later
for missing my wedding
and for making me ride the bus. But
I’m glad you’re back home.”
He laughs and
we sit on a bench
And wait for
The next bus.
The minutes span into days
Then weeks
Then months,
The planes
Screeching over us
As they land.
There is still an awkward
Silence among us.
And there
Will be for a long time.
Though the silence
Is fine.
Time is relative
At least
To the observer
And even
The Bus Rules
Of Time and Space
Work their magic
Outside
A confined
Public transportation
Vehicle.
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