The bus stop at Memory Lane
I waited at a lonely bus stop in the pouring rain. My only protector a streetlight, bearing it's silent vigilance over me, daring the enemies of the night to make their move. I couldn't remember why I was there; I just was. I needed to get out, to make a fresh start somewhere new. All I had with me was what I could carry in my backpack and pockets. I didn't have a plan, I didn't have a reason. I just wanted a fresh start. And still the night drug on.

As I waited in the pouring rain, I began to reflect on the events prior. The disappearance, the note, the empty house... all of it began to weigh on me. Soon it wasn't just rain that soaked me to the bone, but memories and self-pity as well. Why had I ever let her get that close? I knew better than to love someone... I knew better. I renewed my silent vow to never let another that close again. Me, myself, and I, as the old saying went, was all I had now. And still the night drug on.

As I saw the bus lights approaching through the pouring rain, I pulled my jacket tighter. Not that it made a difference – I was dripping wet. As I heard the squeal of brakes and the sound of the bus engine, I looked up and paid homage to my silent guardian. It almost seemed that it blinked once as if to acknowledge my gratitude, but that was most likely wishful thinking on my part, desperate to feel as if someone cared. And still the night drug on.

As the pouring rain spattered on the windshield, I looked closer at my driver. He looked to be a kind old man, and you could see the years of hard living in his face. He asked me how my night had been.
“Fine,” I lied.

“Good to hear,” he replied softly, almost inaudibly. “Where you headed at this late hour?”

“Anywhere away from here, preferably the furthest stop you make.”

“Alright then... What are you running from?” His eyes, no less kind, now pierced through me via the rear-view mirror. It was around this time that I noticed the bus was completely empty, except for myself and the old man.

“If I said my past, I suppose that would sound cliché, but it is my past nonetheless.” I cringed as I said this, knowing it would lead to uncomfortable questions that I wasn't ready to answer..

“It seems you're unwilling to talk about it. I'll let you be. But remember this: there's no-one in the world worth your personal happiness. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

I paused for a minute. This was an odd bit of advice from a stranger, and yet he was dead on in his implied assessment. “Sounds like you've gone through much the same thing I have,” I ventured.

“That depends,” he said with a rueful smile playing on his lips, “have you been betrayed by those you love most? By the ones that pretended to care?”

“Actually, yes,” I began, “that's exactly it.”

“I know, son. I know.”

This threw me for a bit of a loop – What did he mean? How did he know? “How did you know, sir?” It was apparent by this point that this gentleman deserved my utmost respect, if for no other reason than he respected me.

“Well, son, that's an easy one. It's because I'm you. Or I was, at one point.”

“Wha-?” I interrupted, confused as I could possibly be.

“You see,” the man began, “this isn't just a bus. It's a door that opens only to those who have reached the bottom. Those who run just to keep themselves alive. Those who don't have any reason to stay alive. And even those who don't want a reason to stay alive. Fact is, everyone hits this point in their life. Everyone. For some, it takes more than others, but sure enough everyone does. And a curious thing – it's not always something we bring upon ourselves. I'd wager that you were one of those... Am I right?”

“Y-yeah,” I said shakily. I was beginning to get weirded out.

“So tell me, if you're comfortable with it; what's your story?”

“Well,” I began, “there was this girl-”

“That's how most of these stories begin.” the old man said flatly.

“Anyway,” I continued “I loved her. She was smart, attractive, funny, and above all else, she loved me when no one else would. My parents died when I was young, I never knew my sister, and I've honestly felt cold and detached all my life; almost as if I were an outside observer.”

“And this girl... she changed that, eh?” he said this with a smile, almost as if he had heard the story before.

“Exactly. For the first time, I was able to feel... human. I missed her as soon as she left the room. I began to see the world in color instead of shades of gray. Each day we grew closer. I depended on her, she was almost a part of me.”

“And that's when disaster struck.” he suggested.

“Precisely,” I said. “I was away on business for one week. One. It was my first trip with the company, and my last. I waited for her to pick me up at the airport, and she never came. I called, no answer. I eventually caught a cab and made my way home. As I stepped into the room we had shared for 3 years, I noticed the note hung on the mirror. She had left no way to contact her, and no explanation. Simply a short 'it's been fun, but it's time to move on,' and she was gone forever. I went into a tailspin. I quit my job, I couldn't bring myself to care about it. I sold my house, and I sold my belongings. I packed this backpack here with a change of clothes and my laptop and set out for a fresh start. And that's when we met.”

“Son,” he began, “you know that you can't outrun the memories, and you can't bury them. You have to heal. The only advice I can offer is to remember that no matter what happened, you're still you, and you're still alive. No one can take that away from you. Whatever makes you happy, find it and do it and the healing will come in time. Good luck, son.”

“Good luck? But this isn't my st-”
With a tremendous crash, the bus plummeted off the road and down and embankment. The last thing I remember was the old man apologizing, and then everything went black. And still the night drug on.

I woke to the hum of machinery and bright lights. The beeping of the monitor at my bedside let me know my heart was indeed still beating. I began to call for the nurse.

“What is it, honey?” she asked.

“What happened?”

“I'd better get the doctor,” she said, “he can explain it much better than I can.”

As I waited on the doctor to get to my room, I looked out the window and noticed the sun was shining brightly on the autumn leaves. Brilliant colors stood out in stark contrast to the deep blue sky. I smiled to myself. It was beautiful.

“So how do you feel, son?” the doctor asked. As he walked in, I recognized him immediately. It was the bus driver.

“B-but... you're the b-bus driver?” I was seriously confused at this point.

“Bus driver? Of course not!” he said with a wink. “Anyway, about your condition... you were in an accident 3 months ago, not too far from here. You only had superficial cuts and bruises, but you slipped into a coma shortly after arriving here. I'm not sure why, but we just couldn't wake you.”

“Oh... Wow, I had no idea.”

“Comatose patients usually don't,” he said with a grin, “but now that you're awake and healed, you can go anytime you wish.”

“Alright then,” I replied, “I think I'm ready now. Is my bag still here?”

“Oh yes,” he said, “we've taken good care of it. Let me get you a wheelchair and we'll see you off.”

“Actually Doc, that won't be necessary. I'll walk.”

“Suit yourself,” he smiled.

The doctor helped me stand to my feet and walk down the stairs to the front door. As the automatic doors slid aside and the sunlight hit my face, the doctor handed me my bag and a pair of sunglasses.

“Do you have someone coming to pick you up?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “but I think I'll catch the bus.”

The doctor merely shrugged and rolled his eyes. I thanked him once more and began the walk to the bus stop. As I sat on the bench and waited on the next bus, I smiled to myself. The night was over.


Apologies for length. Short story criticism encouraged and welcome.
(DarkSol, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:23, 4 replies)

Good man,
Tailed off a little toward the end, felt like you lost a bit of commitment.
Very promising though, I'd like to read more.
(TheColonel, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 10:52, closed)

that happened to me too once
(good story)
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 26 Jun 2009, 17:00, closed)

Nice...
Good story






(Fuck it - I'm just happy this story didn't end up being a narrative version of a loosely bus related film plot!)
(aroe_m0rre, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 16:50, closed)

Not so bad
If I'm going to be picky the ending and resolution came a little faster than the previous pacing of the story would have otherwise indicated, slow, measured, detailed... "and then the bus crashed and I woke up"

Also, I'm pretty sure that drug is not the past tense of drag.
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Wed 1 Jul 2009, 16:35, closed)