Page 24 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
It’s not time yet. The call is not for me any longer because I’ve given the task to my son now. I’ve been avoiding it for so many years already I can keep it up for a while longer. Sweden has been a closed chapter, that was the only way to stay sane. At the last neurology appointment Blade asked about cognitive functioning training and how to old-lady-proof the house, essentially, though he used slightly more polite words. When he finally stopped talking I leaned forward in my chair.
‘Secrets,’ I said. ‘Small ones, emotional ones, family ones. Things that happened in the past and impacted our direction. How do we hold onto them when dementia progresses?’
The red bus comes into view now, slowing down as it approaches the stop, the horde of waiting people all taking a step towards it at the same time.
‘Right, shall we?’ I take Zara’s hand and lean my head against her shoulder. Sometimes we are able to connect morewith those we know less. No shared history, no secrets, no complicated feelings. Just a warm hand and someone to sit next to on a bus and watch the rain with.
‘I will say, your hair looks lovely,’ Zara offers.
‘It’s been ages since I’ve had a trim. Felt it was time.’
‘These things happen to the best of us.’
I nod in agreement, as she is correct.
‘Just remember, not a word, Edith.’
‘Of course.’
I’m still very good at keeping secrets.
Sophia
Sweden
When I meticulously planned this trip,thiswas not part of it. I did everything right. I checked the tyres, the oil, the windscreen liquid and the insurance papers in the glove compartment. All my equipment, scissors, ribbons, décor and the flowers for the first two days are safely stored across the folded down backseat. I did everything right and yet here I am. On the hard shoulder next to my car which appears to have broken down.
This is agony. My worst nightmare rolled into one: being an inconvenience (literally blocking a road) and realising that I will quite possibly have to approach a stranger for help. Because although I have three brothers and a dad who know all there is to know about cars, no one picks up my call. I swear, out loud, not sure what to do. Wave for attention, call insurance? I’m about to start crying when a camper-van with its signal on pulls up behind my Skoda. It’s white with black lines, reminds me of a sneaker. I tense.Focus. Task at hand.They’ve probably just pulled over to piss in the ditch anyway and not to bother you, Sophia.
Wrong.
‘You okay there?’
‘That’s an extraordinarily stupid question. Do I—or rather does my car—look okay?’ I say with as much neutrality as I can.
I turn around to face the stranger.
‘Oh, it’s you. The Funeral Crasher.’
‘Well, hello to you to... Car Crasher.’ He looks amused. Less anxious and fidgety than yesterday.
‘To be clear, it broke down on me, but fair game.’ He’s wearing a tight black sweater with sweatpant shorts and I wonder why I’m suddenly aware of men’s clothing. He’s taller than I remember from the other day, taller than me, which is some sort of achievement considering I’m five ten.
‘Sophia.’ I had begun walking back to my car to decide who to call but stop in my tracks. Whatisit about the way he says my name?
‘Do you need hel—’
I shake my head.
‘I mean, I do need help, but from a professional.’
‘Obviously. But let’s move you off the road at least. Do you have your insurance details? Let me have a look.’ He leans across me and his face passes my face. I usually hold my breath when there’s a risk of smells—the fridge, the chicken shop and strangers. But this time I find myself inhaling freely. My heart beats at an unfamiliar though not unpleasant rhythm. Perhaps there’s verbena in his scent? Or he touched some that is growing on the roadside? I’m a florist after all, and that could totally trigger this response... right?
He rummages for a while, doing a much more thorough search than I did.
‘Okay, got them.’
Blade places the insurance company’s phone number without asking me. If it weren’t for my relief at not having tocall or think about what to say, I’d ask why he’s helping, and secondly, be annoyed at said help. I stand next to the car and listen to cars whoosh past us. Then Blade mouths what looks like ‘thirty minutes’ at me.
