Night bus

I squeezed into the packed bus shutting the night out behind me. Making my way to the last empty seat I brush through the other passengers like a car moving through the bristles of a car wash. Having made it, I can now see that the woman in the other seat has left her hand bag intentionally where I had planned to sit. I turn to move back towards the door I usually leave from but there is a family arguing about where they are going to go next; each seemly have their own destination in mind, with the young daughter being the most adamant. I swivel back and look at the hand bags owner. “Excuse me.” “What?” I look at the bag. She stares for a while, her eyes narrow, taking her time to remove it from the seat as if making a point; to begrudge me what little room remains on this bus. Unzipping my coat and unwinding my scarf, I settle in allowing my weight to rest down hard against the seat. I pull my feet out of my furry half boots, alternately tensing and relaxing them until resting them on top of the suede boots, naked, they suddenly seem fragile and delicate like porcelain doves nestling close to each other. Slouching slightly, growing more accustomed to the light tone murmur on the bus, I yawn.

I look out the window and watch the people hurry from store to store in the city streets until my eyes get stuck on the stillness of a couple whose arms are wrapped in each others open coats like a human silhouette shaped salt and pepper set I have on my kitchen table which interlock by means of their complimentary shape. The man moves his head away from the woman’s neck to look at her as if to see her reaction to what she is saying or to allow the sincerity of what he has said to shine through his eyes. I recognize the man. He is my husband.