I stepped on the bus and immediately could feel people looking at me. They were wondering why I was there, what I was doing, and if I was lost. No, I wasn’t lost. But this still wasn’t necessarily my scene. I could tell my face gave off intimidation at first – like I was afraid of my new surroundings. But I wasn’t going to let myself give off that impression, not even to a bus full of strangers. I quickly got myself together and changed the look to show I was certain. Certain, that is, about the bus ride. They could probably tell I wasn’t too certain about myself.
Was it strange if I sat right next to a stranger with all of these open seats? Or was it even stranger if I sat with no one surrounding me, as if I had distaste for them? I didn’t have much time to mull over my options, so I sat in a seat that was empty on either side. I guess this way at least I wouldn’t invade any personal space. I took out my sleeveless book and began to read. Or more like, tried to read. It was more like I was trying to look enthralled with something, busy with what I was doing perhaps. Maybe then I’d be able to keep my mind off things, just by pretending. If you pretend hard enough, anything might be able to happen.
The book wasn’t distracting enough; maybe this neighborhood would be. I directed my attention out to the passing scenery. The streets were familiar; I’d just been used to seeing them out of a convertible, not a bus window. I wondered how I looked to the people on the bus, or if any of them even noticed. Was I out of place? Did I seem confused or frightened? Or maybe just lost in thought? I think I was a little bit of all those things. But not because of the neighborhood. I knew the neighborhood. What I didn’t know was why I forced myself to get somewhere that I didn’t even want to go in the first place.
No comments:
Post a Comment