Page 72 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
Linköping
It’s been two days since Blade left, and I’m about to finish my project. Me and my blooms have officially done it. I’m a long way from having the money I need, but I least I know I can do it. I can increase my revenue if I need to.
I’ve also survived for four days on only that oneSpeak soonmessage from Blade. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror by the door on my way out and wonder how the chaos inside me isn’t more visible. If my outside matched my inside I’d be a nice, modernist sculpture: head sideways, nose instead of eyes and eyes on my chin. Instead I’m still me: blond hair, tired blue eyes and the beginnings of a stress pimple on my forehead.
My brother called to ask what time I was leaving, and I didn’t know why he asked until I spot his pickup truck in the distance. I hear it before I see it and stand there motionless, waiting, as he drives all the way up to me and parks.
‘Hej.’
‘Hej.’
‘You okay?’
I remember that he used to ask me that. After therapy. After a roadkill incident. After the bullies had gotten hold of my hat and dipped it in the toilet. When he climbed into the car after hockey practice and sat close to me, so close his warmth spread to me. And I’d say yes or no, and that would be it. No further questions when I did no further explaining. He’d hesitantly turn around and go off and join our brothers, until the next time.
Today I decide to try something new.
‘Not really,’ I say. He takes a step closer, kicking at a pinecone.
‘I’m sorry. That you’re not okay now. And you know, for all the times you weren’t okay then.’
‘Not your fault.’ I follow the pinecone with my gaze. It stops rolling but rocks back and forth on the path as if it’s anxious.
‘Maybe not, but I was still sorry it happened to you. Iamstill sorry, Sophia. So genuinely sorry.’
I nod. It’s one of those sentences that covers more than just one moment, that transcends time and changes something in you.
‘What’s that noise?’ I can hear faint quivering from the truck. ‘Did you bring work? If you did, can I pet it?’
‘I don’t tend to drive around with patients.’ Mattias says with a slight smile. ‘I don’t have an ambulance licence.’
I walk over to his truck and peek into a window where I think the noise is coming from.
‘Wait a minute.’ My brother dives into the backseat and emerges with a pet travel cage.
‘He’s yours. I bought him. I’ve checked him over, and he’s fit and well, no hidden illness, hips screened and cleared and no family history of arthritis. He looks set for a long and happy life. I’ve microchipped him already so he won’t lose his owner.’
‘His owner?’ I manage. A very cute, very distracting blacknose is peeking out at me, pressing against the thin bars of the cage.
‘You. You’re his owner.’
I should scald my brother, tell him all the reasons why I can’t have a dog and why he definitely shouldn’t give me one, but as he opens the cage’s door and I see the face—oh what a face!—which has a white stripe running from between the large curious eyes to the black nose, I can do no such thing. All I can say is
‘Thank you. Thank you for giving me my own pet.’
‘You deserve to have a pet, Sophia. When you were a little girl and now.’
Mattias hands me a bag which I’m too busy to look into but assume is dog food and other necessities, and he squeezes my shoulder. I look closer at the(my!)puppy and he sticks his head out when I unclasp the sides of the door and carefully open it all the way. I notice that next to the white stripe is a small orange drop, not quite even enough to be a snowdrop, but rather it looks like a wonky-shaped cornflake.
‘Cornflakes,’ I say and take him into my palms where he fits perfectly. Maybe being big-boned and having large hands isn’t so bad after all, if they can hold a whole puppy with a white-and-orange nose called Cornflakes.
‘Call me if you have any questions. I promise you—it feels good, almost healing, to take care of animals.’
I think about something then, something that could be a timeless moment for Mattias and how I wish that for him like I had mine.
‘How are you?’ I ask, the puppy already in my arms, wriggling and crying softly.
‘I’m okay.’
