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The Difference Outside the Doors
Alice stood under the awning of the bus stop, already soaked through from head to toe. Her purple blouse clung to her and her skirt was darkened with water. Her hair, which she had arranged so perfectly earlier that morning, had become a stringy mess around her face. She knew she should have been prepared for this, it was Seattle after all, but she had been too worried about her first day. Alice had always wanted to work at a bookstore. She loved being around books, the smell of crisp pages waiting to be read, the numerous possibilities that could be wedged between the different covers. She began to smile just thinking about it. The only reason she had gotten the job at Books & Things was because the owner was one of her step dad’s patients. But she was willing to take any advantage that she could get; her right arm still occasionally ached from scooping ice cream at Joe’s last summer.
Alice shivered in her wet clothes and wrapped her arms around herself trying to keep warm. She saw her bus in the distance, the lights braking through the sheets of rain. She dug into her purse and pulled out her laminated bus pass. She had gotten her license the year before but her mom and step dad needed the car to get to work, so she was stuck taking the bus the whole summer. She didn’t mind though, there was something magical about taking the bus. You were put in such close proximity to people from so many different walks of life. She loved to watch the bus patrons, to try to figure out who they were and where they were going. She could play this game for hours making up different stories and scenarios. The bus pulled up in front of her with a screech and she scurried up the stairs as soon as the doors opened, trying to avoid getting any wetter than she already was.
She showed the driver her bus pass and walked over the neon yellow line to search for a seat. The bus was crowded with hordes of people standing up and holding on to the metal poles. She scanned the interior for an ideal place to stand and maneuvered herself around a large man reading a newspaper in order to be right in front of the back exit. Her white sneakers squeaked as she walked, leaving a trail of murky footprints in her wake. She came to stand behind a young woman holding the hand of a small girl. The woman’s hair was pulled up into a loose bun and her mascara had smeared onto her left cheek. She’s going to drop her daughter off at daycare and then go to her job as a nurse at the elderly home, Alice thought. She could see green scrubs peeking out of the bottom of the woman’s sweatshirt. At the next stop, a large group of people streamed off the bus and Alice was able to find a seat near the back next to a boy who was leaning his head against the window, asleep. She had always wondered how someone could fall asleep on a bus. How would he know when to get off? Did he have some sort of internal alarm clock that would wake him up when the bus arrived at his stop? She considered jolting him awake, just to make sure that he didn’t end up miles away from his destination, but decided against it.
She didn’t have that long of a bus ride, maybe twenty minutes or so but she was starting to get antsy. Her right leg jiggled up and down just thinking about all of the possible ways she could get herself fired on her first day. The bus could brake down and she could get there hours late, a customer could start yelling at her, she could accidentally set the whole store on –
“You’re dripping,” she heard a voice say. It seemed as if it came from the boy next to her, but when she looked over, his head was still leaned up against the graffitied window, eyes closed and enormous purple headphones covering his ears.
“Your dripping on my leg,” the boy spoke, but his eyes never opened, it was as if he was sleep talking. Alice looked down at his leg and saw a couple of drip marks on his khaki shorts. They looked kind of like a constellation, a milky way of wayward droplets. She looked at the place where the water must have come from and saw small, clear drops sliding off the tips of her hair and onto his legs. They made small plopping noises as they hit his shorts.
“Oh,” she said pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “I’m sorry.” He grunted in response, but never moved from his position and his eyes never lifted. Alice wondered who this boy was. He had curly hair that was partly flattened by his headphones and he wore a plain white t-shirt with a plaid button down open over it. He had a small scar that cut through his eyebrow and Alice wondered how he had gotten it. She pictured him falling off a bicycle or getting nicked with a kitchen knife. She wanted to know what color his eyes were; she thought that they might be blue, a portal that she would be able to look into and see the ocean, the same as putting a seashell to your ear. She looked down at the ratty blue backpack that he had folded between his legs. She could just make out some faded black sharpie written at the top, near the handle. S. Stewart it said. She wondered where he was going. He looked too casual to be going to work but it was summer, so he couldn’t be going to school. He could be going anywhere, she thought, supermarket, a friend’s house, a bowling alley. A couple minutes later, she arrived at her stop, got up from her seat, and walked over to the doors, waiting for them to open. Before she stepped off the bus, she turned back to take one last look at the boy. This time he was sitting up straight and was looking right at her. His eyes were a dark green and she felt it hard to look away. They really were the color of the ocean, she thought, the real ocean, dirty and opaque, not the clear blue that everyone describes it as. She jumped out of the bus just as the doors were closing. “Who are you S. Stewart?” she thought on her way to the bookstore, her black messenger bag slapping against her side as she walked.
The next day was sunny and Alice appreciated the way that the wind blew her yellow skirt around her knees. She stood outside of the bus awning this morning, enjoying the sun’s warmth on her arms. Her first day at work had been uneventful. She was shown the ropes; how to operate the cash register, where to shelve biographies, cookbooks, non-fiction, how the storage room was organized but she never got to do any real work on her own. It was almost like the manager didn’t trust her because she was so young. Her co-workers seemed nice enough, but they were all older, in college or grad school. She hoped that today would be better; she wanted to find someone the book that would change them, the book that would make their day. She remembered the bookseller that had handed her a copy of Little Women. It was one of the first books that she had read that she had actually liked. She wanted to do that for someone, to turn them into a reader.
The bus pulled up to her stop and she climbed up the steps, flashing her bus pass to the driver once again. The bus was emptier this time, no one standing in the aisles. She was about to sit down in one of the seats near the front when she saw him. He was in the same position, slumped against the window, eyes shut and the same giant purple headphones strewn across his head. She could see that he was awake though; he kept wrapping the cord of his headphones around his index finger. She started to walk over to the empty seat beside him. It was like walking in a wind tunnel, the movement of the bus trying to push her back towards the front. When they were stopped at red light, she was finally able to take a seat next to him. He didn’t move or flinch when she sat; he made no acknowledgment that he knew that there was a person sitting next to him.
“Hey,” Alice whispered. “You awake?” She was intruding, she knew, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her. S. Stewart lazily opened one eye and rolled it to stare at her. As soon as she saw that deep green color, he closed it again.
“No,” he said while he readjusted himself against the window.
“But-” she responded. She shut her mouth quickly, cutting off her words. She knew it would be futile to point out that he couldn’t possibly be asleep because he had just demonstrated that he was awake by telling her that he was asleep. “It’s just, S. Stewart, its been bothering me all day. What does the S stand for?” She realized what she had said just after the words left her mouth. God, she thought, I must sound like some sort of stalker. He opened his eyes and turned to her cocking one eyebrow and giving her a puzzled look.
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “It’s…it’s on your bag. I saw it yesterday. See, look.” She pointed down at his blue backpack that was tucked under the seat and his eyes followed her finger. When he met her eyes again, he gave her a blank look.
“So,” she said. “What does the S stand for?” He continued to stare at her, eyes never breaking contact. He probably thought she was some kind of psycho on her way to the mental ward. “Well, um, my name’s Alice.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake, trying to seem civilized, but he just looked at her hand and then closed his eyes, leaning up against the window once again. Alice let out a sigh hoping that he would be able to sense how frustrated she was. Her stop was up the block so she slung her bag over her shoulder and readied herself to leave. Before she stood up, she turned to him once again.
“Will you tell me if I guess it?” she asked, not expecting a response. But he shrugged his shoulders, eyes still closed, head still resting against the window. Well, she thought, at least that was something. She didn’t know why she was so entranced by him. It was like this boy was a character in a murder mystery and she had to figure out by the clues given if he had committed the crime. She always figured out the mystery before it was revealed and she needed to figure out this boy too. It was like some sort of game and she needed to win.
She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She still wondered where he was going on the bus. He got on before her and got off after her, so she had no way of knowing where he went. He wouldn’t remain an enigma for long though. She had a feeling that he would be on the bus tomorrow too, maybe even for the rest of the week. She would be able to break down his ramparts by then.
The bus rides confused him. He wasn’t sure if it was the best part of his day, or the worst. On one hand, it was the last moments he had before he got to the park, before he had to put on his jumpsuit and get to work. He cherished those moments, relaxing, trying to get out of his own head. And, it was the time he got to spend with Alice; he could live on those short couple of minutes. But on the other hand, every time he got on that bus, he was reminded of what he did and why he was on his way to the park. Every time he sat down, the event played over and over in his head. God, he thought, it was only one punch, one goddamn punch. Troy was tormenting Jared about his pants. They were tight and pink and Troy had followed Jared around all day calling him faggot or fairy or c-sucker. And Jared, he just stood there and took it. He couldn’t stand there and watch anymore, something just built up inside him, something he couldn’t control. It was like he was a bottle of vinegar and someone had just poured baking soda all over him. He exploded. His fist connected with Troy’s face and Troy’s head reverberated off the wall of lockers. He didn’t do that much damage, just a concussion and a broken jawbone, but Troy’s dad, man, he was furious. He couldn’t believe something like this could happen to his poor baby Troy. So they pressed charges and took him to court and now here he was serving his 200 hours of community service. He has to report to Westlake Park every morning to pick up trash, clean the bathrooms, and mow the grass. It’s no fun job but he’s getting through it. 50 hours down, 150 to go, and all because of one stupid, little punch. He sat in his usual seat at the back of the bus and slid on his headphones. Today would be his 8th day of service, but it seemed like he had been working at the park for weeks. Music helped to put a damper on his thoughts during his long bus ride. He especially liked music with short dramatic pauses like Make Me Smile by Cockney Rebel or Radio Song by R.E.M. The music would be flowing and then it would suddenly stop; the tension would build and then, just for a second, you would wonder if the music was ever going return. And, just a moment later, the melody would come streaming back. He felt so many different feelings just in that one second of pause. He was sitting on the bus, eyes closed, listening to Blister in the Sun by the Violent Femmes waiting for the pause that he knew would come. The music went into a crescendo and right when he expected that one moment of pure silence to appear, he heard, “Samuel?” There she was, Alice, the small pixie like girl with the brown curly hair. He felt a small grin spread across his face as she slid in beside him. Sure, she could be a little annoying at times, but she was growing on him. “Not Samuel? Ok, what about Sawyer? Spencer?” He smiled and shook his head, letting his black bangs fall in front of his face. He didn’t know why he didn’t tell her his name. He liked this little game that they played, she would guess and he would say no. If she knew, she would stop trying to find out, stop sitting next to him. He saw her dig a green Post-it note out of her pocket where she had scribbled down even more names. “Sean? Silas? Seth? Sergio?” “No, no, no, and come on, Sergio?” “It was worth a try. Oh well, I’ll have more tomorrow. Next time, I promise you, I’ll get it.” She actually hadn’t guessed his name yet, but he wondered if she did, if he would tell her. He started to put his headphones back on, thinking that their conversation was done for the day, but she reached up and pulled them out of his hands. “Hey,” she said. “We’re talking here.” “Oh, sorry, what did you want to talk about?” “Well, I never asked you, where do you go everyday on this bus S. Stewart? Where does it take you?” He faltered. He didn’t know what to tell her. Sure, they had had some light, fun conversations on the bus, but he didn’t want to scare her away. She was the only person he knew who didn’t judge him for what he had done. All the kids at school hated him for damaging the school’s golden boy and whenever his parents looked at him, he saw disappointment in their eyes. But she didn’t know what had happened, he could have a clean slate with Alice. “Work,” he stuttered a little bit. “I’m going to work.” It wasn’t a lie exactly, but it wasn’t the truth either. “And where do you work?” she asked, making a ‘please continue’ motion with her hand. “Westlake Park? It’s down on 4th Avenue.” “Oh yeah, my parents used to take me there when I was little. I used to love the playground, I could go on those swings forever.” He nodded, hoping his decision not to tell her wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. “Well,” she said. “Here’s my stop. Time to get back to all of my books. Have fun at work!” She jumped out of her seat and ran over to the exit, the bus still in motion. Before she got off, she looked back at him; she always looked back to give him a wave or a smile. This time she winked. When he asked her about it, she had said, “I never got why people always say ‘don’t look back.’ What if something happens to me? What if the world ends in the next five minutes? I would have wanted to have my one last look.”
“What about her?” Alice asked, slyly pointing to an old woman sitting across from them. She was covered in everything leopard print and was wearing huge white sunglasses. “Where is she going?”
“She’s on her way to go shopping of course,” S. Stewart responded. “She hasn’t got enough animal print.” Alice laughed her huge belly laugh, gaining them angry stares from the people around them.
“No,” Alice responded. “I think she’s going to visit her grandchildren. Or maybe she’s going to the pound to look for her lost dog.”
“Or maybe, she’s on her way to murder her ex-husband for cheating on her with a 26 year old medical student.” She shoved him against the window and they huddled together, trying to silence their laughter. Alice had started to look forward to these bus rides more than she did her actual job. S. Stewart never failed to be waiting for her in their seats at the back of the bus, his backpack set down on the seat next to him, saving it for her. He made her laugh. They talked about anything, their favorite books and movies, what they wanted to be when they grew up, the odd people that accompanied them on the bus. Their conversations were never forced; they just flowed without any effort. She didn’t work on the weekends and she felt the void of his presence without her bus ride. She had started to look forward to the weekdays instead of the weekends.
It was Monday and the summer was almost over. He sat in his chair, cradling his head in his hands. He had messed up. He should have told her, god, he really should have told her. He moved his fingers up into his hair and pulled, groaning. He remembered yesterday in the park, he worked on weekends, trying to finish his hours as soon as possible. He was picking up trash near the playground with a long metal spear. He always missed her when he rode the bus on the weekends; it felt like something was wrong, like maybe he had forgotten to wear shoes that day. While he tried to spear a particularly stubborn Mc Donald’s wrapper, he thought about the new list of names she would surely have for him tomorrow. His favorites so far were Scooby and Sherlock. He had finally managed to get the wrapper into his large black trash bag when he saw her. Alice was standing about twenty feet away on the grass, just staring at him. He watched her take in his orange jump suit complete with a serial number plastered against his chest. Her face contorted in confusion and after a couple of seconds it turned into understanding, and then settled into a mixture of sadness and anger. He ran over to her but when he got to her, he didn’t know what to say.
“I…I” he stuttered, looking down at his feet. “You’re here.”
“Yeah, I thought I would try to see you outside of the bus. But I guess that wasn’t the best idea.”
“No, it’s just” he paused, gathering his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I don’t technically work here. I was assigned here, for my community service.”
“Oh, so like assigned…by a judge?” he nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have judged you or anything.”
“Yes you would have. Everyone does.”
“I guess we never really got to know each other on that bus. How many hours did we spend together? I can’t even count them. And, wow, I don’t even know your name! We were in a bubble, a stupid little bus bubble.” She sighed and brought her hand to her forehead, calming herself. “I don’t care what you did or why you’re here. It’s just… I thought that I had found someone that I could tell anything to. And I thought that you could tell me anything in return. I guess I just read the whole situation wrong,” said wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans. “It can’t work on the outside, can it?”
“We can make it work,” he started to say, but she had already started to walk away. “Alice! Alice, come on! Come back!” But she was gone.
Alice stood outside of the bus, for the first time feeling like she did not want to get on. The driver looked at her and raised his eyebrows, asking if she was planning on moving anytime soon. She took a deep breath in and stepped onto the bus. She saw him. He was there in their usual spot. They stared at each other for what seemed like ten minutes, and then she sat down, but not next to him. She sat at the front, next to a lady with a small puppy on her lap. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. This one bus ride was the longest she had ever been on; his eyes burning into the back of her head and her eyes focused intently on her shoes. Finally the bus reached her stop and when she looked up from the floor, he was standing right in front her. She tried to walk around him, but he put his hands on her shoulders to stop her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He pulled a warn envelope and out of his jean pocket and handed it to her. “Just take it.” She took the envelope from his hand and stared at her name, which had been written in messy script across the top. She slipped it open and pulled out a small piece of paper, only containing one word. She smiled to herself and slipped the paper into her own pocket. She walked down the steps toward the exit, but before she stepped off the bus, she looked back at him and gave him a small, sad smile that he returned.
“Simon,” she whispered to herself as she walked out the door. She repeated the name, liking the way it sounded coming off her tongue. “Simon Stewart.”
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