Page 22 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
‘Oh, sorry, I was joking,’ Lina says and I see Blade (Blade? Who is called Blade? Did his parents confuse the Baby Names book with a tool brochure?)going a shade of purple. He’s awkward and anxious. I can spot it from miles away.
‘Oh. Right, obviously. Okay. I’m off. Thank you for your time. And good luck with your tour.’
I look to see if Blade has left, but he is eyeing up some cacti very closely in the corner of the shop.Finally.He looks back over his shoulder then leaves and lets the door close itself.
Lina hops onto my counter.
‘Okay, maybe I wasn’t entirely joking. It was a sort of interesting idea,’ she says.
‘Maddening? Bizarre? Outrageous?’ I offer as alternative, more fitting adjectives, covering my eyes with my hands.
‘So... if a cute stranger with a spacious RV and an offer to share fuel costs is not part of the plan, then whatisthe plan, exactly?’
‘I didn’t notice any cuteness.’ It’s true, my brain sees details. Wrinkles, hairs, red lines in eyes. Blade has a mole on his neck, a small spot which may be a skin blemish on his upper arm and hair that stands up in a funny way on the left side. His left eye is slightly bigger than his right, and his back teeth are pointy.
‘I forgot. Looks are wasted on you.’
‘Besides, the answer is no.’
I know something for sure: I am not joining Funeral Crasher in a mobile home with all my flowers. He isn’t my only option, nor is he the best one. It turns out he isn’t a customer either as he left without buying anything.
‘All I know is he is cute and he is heading the same direction as you and he does already have a storage solution for this growing problem. Some people might call that a sign.’
‘Some people should leave subject signs alone and focus their energy elsewhere.’ I tap at the screen of my laptop. I will squeeze everything I need into my little car, even if it means holding a flowerpot on my lap.
Later that night, trying to fall asleep, I find myself going over the blemishes on Blade’s face. Except something happensdifferently this time, and my mind start to count the long lashes he has instead. And traces the outline of his jaw. And the shape of his upper arm. This isn’t going to put me to sleep, is it? Why hasn’t this happened with other people? Even with Ed, who was a highly attractive and accomplished man and who I went as far as to kiss, I could never move on from the coffee stain on his front tooth where my brain would fixate, and I’d find myself snoring within minutes.
This is...different.
Edith
London
We’ve fallen into quite a little routine, me and Zara. The mornings are spent at home. I rest or putter about whilst she works in the reception room. Then we have lunch, and Zara shows me young ladies and men on various apps who are potential suitors. Then we sayRightand pack our afternoon biscuits in a little plastic container and leave the house. On the bus, Zara works some more, and I look out at the familiar roads and houses. Today the route is diverted and we drive down a parallel road. I think how I’ve never seen these houses and yet they’ve been there all these years, just tucked away off the main road.
By the time we get to Sloane Square, with its flagship boutiques and French brasseries, I’ve scrolled through my photos three times. I’ve started taking pictures of my days to remember them. So I don’t wear the same clothes three days in a row, that sort of thing. From yesterday I have Hornton Street, a ham sandwich, my green crew neck sweater, the library sign saying ‘Public Desks.’ Finally, I have the picture I took of the article. The picture that I now remember that I have to send to Blade. But I hesitate. Because seeing him there is wrong. I have no explanation. Blade will say:Maybe you got the datewrong? Or could you just have missed each other, Mum?No. I did not get the date wrong. I did not miss him. I will hold on to the photo until I understand it even the slightest. I won’t share the picture just yet.
When we arrive, Zara reminds me of where she is going to be. This doesn’t stress me, as I know the place so well. She’ll be at the public desks and will come and find me at four o’clock, which means I have two hours outside the town hall. It isn’t a long enough session really, but I’ve agreed to the compromise whilst Blade is away. I put my bag down onto the cobbled ground and make myself comfortable, then pick up a chocolate wrapper and an empty bottle of coke and carry it to the bin.
‘Hello.’
I’m approached by a young man around, Blade’s age, as I sit down to rest against the wall. My knees feel terribly sore. I wonder if I’ve forgotten to take something (it’s often the case when pain appears) or if this is a new normal now. Which is also often the case.
‘Hi there, love, how are you? I offer free haircuts to people in need.’
‘What a lovely thing to do.’
‘Would you be interested in one?’
Now, I find this incredibly rude.In need!But hard as I try I can’t remember when I last went for a trim. There is something about a red lollipop in my memories but that must have been for Blade, which means it was a very, very long time ago. Surely I must have been to the hairdresser since then? I touch the sides of my face, and my fingers feel the rough strands of hair.
‘This is certainly a new business tactic. Hassling women on the street.’
‘No, no, I assure you it’s free. You can find us here.’ Heproduces a card with a pair of scissors on it and points at the address. I suppose I wouldn’t mind a break from waiting. And one should always look one’s best when waiting for their love. I get a flash of memory of hot hair curlers and glossing my lips, then licking them as I waited, not wanting to take my lip-gloss out of the bag and apply more in case he appeared in that exact moment and see my vanity.
‘I have an opening just now,’ I tell the man.
‘Oh, good, I’m so pleased. Just head over, and they’ll take care of you. You’ll be a new woman once they’re done with you!’
