Page 41 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
I pull up a message I just received from my brother Mattias and show the screen to Blade.
‘Look, cute pet rabbit. Recovering well from neutering. If that doesn’t cheer you up this morning, I don’t know what will.’
‘That is very cute.’ He pauses and turns to the kitchen with a hopeful look on his face. ‘Wait, is there coffee? Or am I hallucinating?’
‘There is indeed coffee. I don’t drink it so I couldn’t taste-test it, but I hope it doesn’t poison you.’ I added two levelled spoons like I’ve seen him do. It smells like it usually does and looks like it usually does. But then lots of things that look and smell good turn out to be anything but. Like white oleander,Nerium,which is sweet with pink and white petals yet has deadly toxins racing through every part of the flower.
‘The mug is clean.’ I push it towards the coffee machine.
Blade looks at me long and steady, his eyes stuck on mine. I think his eyes haven’t quite woken up yet, so I blink to help them on their way.
‘I’d like to find some sheep,’ I say.
‘Sheep?’ Blade looks at me as if I’ve just landed from a faraway planet and asked him for the impossible.
‘Yes, I’d like to sleep better, but my imagination isn’t as good as others. I can’t just create pictures in my head. I have to actively put them there, base them on real life.’
‘I guess that can be... arranged?’ he says, bemused.
‘Great. After work. Sheep field trip. Bring something to eat. For the sheep.’
This location is smaller, on the outskirts of what is more like a village than a town. I step across the not-yet-trampled grass and look for places where I can work some magic. Vincent will be here this afternoon, and it all has to be ready by midday.
By the time I’ve finished, cleaned up and shown Vincent around, I’m starving and desperate for a bathroom break. There’s already a short queue formed at the public restrooms; the beer tent opened at eleven thirty, and already bladders are bursting. I study the back of the person in front of me as I wait. Flannel shirt over jeans, my height or slightly shorter, brown hair cut close to the skin. As if he can feel my gaze he turnsaround, then gestures to the queue asking without words if I want to go before him, but I’m caught off guard.I know him.Unease fills me and I walk in front of him, my head turned down.He doesn’t remember.My palms start sweating. What do you say to someone who made your life hell year after year? I want to hide, make sure he doesn’t recognise me at all costs. He was at my brother’s birthday party four years ago. I hadn’t known they were still close. He brought me a drink and told me I needed to loosen up. Then he looked me over and saidIt’s true what they say, the ugliest girls become the hottest women. The cute ones reach their peak too soon. Don’t mind tall girls because everyone’s the same height lying down, you know? We never quite made up did we, Sophia? I’d love to end things on a good note this time.
I’m grateful for the escape the toilet cubicle provides, and if it weren’t for the fact that Portaloos have on average 3.2 million bacteria per unit, I’d stay here until I knew the coast was clear. As it stands, I choose to exit with caution, disappearing quickly behind the row of Portaloos.
Me:Why do people say that they saw a ghost from the past? When it’s actually a living, breathing, full colour version of your past stepping right into your present.
Lina:Who?
Me:Someone who told me I’d do everyone a favour if I killed myself when I was ten.
Lina:Jesus!
Me:No, not Jesus.
Lina:Yeah, I know.
Me:What do I do?
Lina: Is he still there?
Me:Currently in a Portaloo four metres away.
Lina:Fight or flight.
I stand to the side and wait for him to appear from the plastic box, pulling down his shirt and spitting to the side of the road. I wonder what it would feel like to be him. To be so unbothered by his childhood that he doesn’t even recognise a girl he made afraid to walk down the street. Who as an adult is choosing to hide behind a public toilet because she is terrified to confront him.
I walk to the parking to wait for Blade. Then it hits me: why I would recognise the bully anywhere, why I’ve been obsessed with memorising faces at night-time. Because the first face that ever haunted me was his.
And I’ve tried to replace it ever since.
Edith
London
It’s one of those soft, blurry evenings where I can’t remember much of the day, but I keep thinking of eggs and how they can go to waste and rot if you forget about them. How you have to hold onto a good egg when you see one. There’s no one downstairs when I make my way there. I hear Zara’s voice in the garden, but I don’t want to bother her. I don’t need her to worry. Again. I’m hungry and not sure when I last ate. I look at the dishes by the sink, but it’s empty and offers no clues. Zara uses the dishwasher, whereas Blade does the washing up by hand. There is a salad bowl in the fridge with my name on it, but when I open the cupboard to find the vinaigrette I instead find the pasta and rice shelf. I haven’t cooked for a long time, and something stirs inside me.An egg.I can do this. Somehow I know that eggs have a cooking time of four minutes, and that’s about as much as I am brave enough to attempt.
