Bus Ride

Do You Still Hate Me? by Jawbreaker

Are you out there, do you hear me?
Can I call you, do you still hate me?
Are we talking, are we fighting?
Is it over, are we writing?

I love the bus. The bus is a great normalizer. When I'm on the bus, everyone else doesn't fade away, they do the opposite. They promote themselves to main characters in this story because they and I and everyone else is doing the exact same thing: we're on the bus. If you have protagonist syndrome, get on the bus.

Tonight was a little different than a normal bus ride. As we always do, we had our holiday party tonight. No, this is no trick of datetimes and servers: it is truly always in the end of January. if not later. Parties in December are a zero interest rate phenomenon after all. But unfortunately, prior to that, I got some demons off my chest. They had been hiding for most of the year without issue.

When prompted, poked, prodded, and provoked, you would be surprised what can come out. Scar tissue gonna scrape itself off, yeah¹? I decided to let the river flow and accumulate debris. While it was no raging tide, the undercurrent staggered the both of us. A foot that was classically planted found itself slipping in silt, struggling to regain a common ground… aye, friend?

I needed a break, I needed an air gap². Walking back out, hopping on the bus and leaving. It wasn't forever but I couldn't hold it together right now. I blasted everything I had on loop just trying to bail out of the cycle I was caught in. A 90% volume gets you halfway there. My heart was beating at half time and my mind was racing at double. The funniest part is that I don't think I can play that in time, but it appears I can think it.

We hop off. We buy some silly clothes at a thrift store, because while we're always who we are, we can flex into someone else briefly by sheer force. We change. On off, mirror flex, in out, brown black, derision decision, time to go.

You ride it in. The entire time there's this overwhelming air of corporate blasé. I've been to Thailand, Florida, and more, but this is thicker than the international humidity. You fill up your glass and try to drown it out, but you can't choke down an entire atmosphere. There's bubbles of who you could have been: URLs, memories, shotguns, doubles, and a whole lot of dancing. New people who short-circuit the journey to friends! Why wait!?

The best friend I never asked for confirms a dark secret. One that remained safe with him for years; between a couple guys, a nod could limit itself to strictly acknowledgement. Between us, it was the understanding that commitment to the bit surpasses any hint of being a poser. You were the first person who heard emotion overcome me at work, and that's because I knew I could trust you. Years later, that's even more true. Thank you.

We pack it in. We ride home, on the bus. The persons covered in eyeliner, dark clothing, and gusto join you. You can go to bed tonight without issue if you don't open your mouth. Of course, your lips are moving. You tell them how jealous you are of their culture, spirit, and attire. In what can only be the most supreme display of empathy, they ask you to join.

Explicitly: shed your coat, your cuffs, your culture. The gate is open and there's always room for one more. If you want it, baby they got it. Toes on the edge, take the jump, they'll wait but it's your call. No room for what you're carrying though.

It's your stop.