X29

Here I wait,
Hiding in the shadows
With my paper bag of sweets,
Peering out from behind the bus shelter,
Waiting for the X29.

My heart sinks
When I see it is him-
The short, older man
Who makes me feel uneasy.

He seems to struggle
To swing the double-decker
Around the concrete crescent of bus stops.

I think about staying hidden,
Waiting for the next one,
But it will be a long time,
And I will be late.

I cannot risk more trouble
In a home already on shaky ground.

I pull out my bus card,
Hating the photo,
The name.
It has stripped me bare
And left me vulnerable.

I am the only person boarding.
I look down,
Try to make myself smaller
As I hold out the pass.

He takes it from me,
Says my name.
It sounds wrong from his mouth.
Wrong in a way
I do not understand.

I snatch it back,
Rush to a seat behind the stairs.
From here, he cannot fully see me,
Not like the last time,
When his eyes would linger too long
And my cheeks would burn.

I clutch my school bag to my chest
And stare out of the window,
Watching the world go by.

Until the bell rings,
And the only other passenger leaves.

The bus lurches forward.
Then his voice:
“Can you just check if anyone is upstairs for me?
If it’s just us, we’ll go a different way tonight – get you home quicker.”

My legs start to shake.
I feel like I will faint.
I dutifully rise,
Clutch the rail,
Climb the stairs.

No one.

Only silence,
And my heartbeat.

Tears blur the way down.
Shame and terror braid themselves inside me.
I don’t know why I feel guilty.

A shot of courage courses through my veins.
Something in me snaps.

“Stop the bus,” I cry.
“I want to get off.”

He turns.
Panic in his eyes,
Which turns to anger.

“You stupid girl! Go and sit back down.
We’ll soon be at your stop.”

I return to my seat and sob.
The bus keeps moving.

A few minutes later,
The bus slows to a stop.
The elderly lady gets on,
The one I see often,
The one I build stories for in my head.

As she takes her usual seat,
She glances at me.
I look away.
She will never know
All that has gone on in these past five minutes.

When my stop nears,
I press the bell
but I wait.
I want to wait until the last moment
To run from my seat
To the sanctuary of the street outside.

My legs won’t move fast enough.

At the exit, he stops me.
He says,
“Get your parents to ring the bus station.
I will explain.
I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I nod.
I step off the bus and stride away,
My head held high.
I watch as the bus turns the corner,
Out of sight.

Then I fall apart.

After a minute or so,
I gather myself.
I walk home,
Go straight to my bedroom,
And say nothing.

Not that night.
Not ever.

Until today.