And Had I Not Looked Left

I missed the bus again. Veronica would kill me if she knew; I'd been late four times that week already and was due for more than just a few snide comments this time.

I frantically tried to flag down the driver, but it was no use. He peeled away from the curb and out into the evening traffic. Cars were whizzing by, their lights blinking on as the world turned more purple than blue.

I stood on the sidewalk and ignored the way that people filtered around me. I could have started the long walk home - at least it would give me some time to think. I could listen to some Cat Stevens and pretend it wasn't far too cold to just be wearing a suit jacket.

Instead, I ducked into the bus shelter and leaned my weight against the wall. I should have texted Veronica, told her to wait before putting the lasagna in the oven because I was going to be late for dinner again. Oh, good lord, she was going to kill me.

I sighed and rested my head against the glass.

As it always did, the world kept on spinning. There was a young man next to me smiling down at his phone. I had to look away; I didn't want to let myself wonder what that felt like.

The sky darkened, then lit up again and painted the city in deep oranges and reds. The buildings glowed pink and the greys of the concrete looked a bit warmer, if only for a few minutes.

It had been raining this morning, but at least the sky was clear now. I really shouldn't have let it pull me in, a sunset happens once a day every day, but I couldn't help it. It'd been cloudy for weeks and now was as good a time as ever to make sure the world was still beautiful.

I stood up a little straighter and followed the rays toward the horizon to my left. I let out a loud sigh and watched the sun sink a little lower.

"Me too."

I wouldn't have realized that I was being spoken to if I didn't notice a pair of glassy eyes peering up at me from the bench seat.

I wasn't in the mood for talking. "Pardon?"

"I feel the same," the woman said, stretching her legs. The sun was shining far too brightly on her face and I could barely make out much more than the outline of far-too frizzy hair and a large nose. "You were making goo-goo eyes at the sun, yeah?"

"Yes?" I said, then pushed off of the wall. "Wait - I wasn't making goo-goo eyes..."

The boy on his phone snorted. I thinned my mouth and gave him a stern look, which he graciously ignored.

"No worries," the woman said. "No judgment here." I didn't have a response to that, so I made to turn away. "But I'd love to see you react to sunset out on the West Coast; you'd be head over heels."

"I actually grew up on the coast," I said, pocketing my hands.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what'd you think about the sunsets there?"

"Too much water," I said with a shrug.

"Not a beach person, then?" she asked, sounding impressed, of all things. "Good on you!"

"For what?" I asked with a slight laugh.

"For getting away," she said. "Most people live and die on the West Coast just because it's what they think they should do."

The boy's bus pulled up to the curb, so he hurried out of the shelter, leaving me and the strange woman alone. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched the traffic without really seeing it.

"Are you a beach person, then?" I asked. I didn't really know why.

"Nah," she said. "I used to think I was."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she said. "Sometimes it just happens that way. You love someone so much, you think you love everything about them, too."

I turned and squinted at her outline. It was too dark by then to see her properly.

"Do I know you?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she said with a laugh as if she had been waiting for me to ask. "We've caught the same bus for about six months now."

"Sorry," I said. I didn't know exactly what I was sorry for.

"No worries," she said. "You're always talking to someone on your phone, I figured you had too much on your mind to shoot the crap with a stranger."

"No," I said, smiling down at my dress shoes. "Not at all."

She was quiet for a long moment. "Marisol."

"Tobias," I said.

"You sound like proper royalty," Marisol said.

"You're one to talk," I said with a smile.

Her laugh was the sweetest thing I'd ever heard. "Touché."

Before I could stop myself, I sat down beside her on the bench. The lights in the shelter lit up. She turned to look at me.

She had the clearest green eyes I had ever seen. My breath caught in my throat the second I saw them. Her nose was dotted with freckles and upturned in the cutest way when she smiled. Her bottom teeth were as crooked as the frilly scarf draped over her shoulders.

Her expression wavered as she looked at me. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of everything about my face. I was no model by any stretch, but certainly, I wasn't hideous enough for her to turn away...

Her smiled grew tenfold. A rush of relief blew through me.

"So, Tobias," she said, testing my name in her mouth. "You headed home?"

"Yeah," I said, my smile waning. My hand drifted to my pocket, where my phone was nestled. I thought of Veronica and her lasagna. My shoulders slumped. "I really should have caught that bus."

Marisol nodded slowly, then cocked her head. I watched as her fingers drew curious patters over the fabric of her coat. "I don't mean to intrude, but why didn't you?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Well, I saw you on the crosswalk," she said, jerking her chin towards said walkway. "The signal said you could go, but you didn't. You kind of took a step back and checked your phone. You coulda went, caught your bus."

I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut again. If those words had come from anyone else, I would have thrown a nasty look and some choice words in their direction, but as it was, I couldn't bring myself to get angry. She was right, after all.

"Why didn't you?" I said. "You said you could have taken the same bus as me, and yet you didn't get on it."

Her smile became sad and it broke my heart. "Guess I just don't want to go home."

I winced. "Guess I don't either."

We sat in silence for two very long minutes. I fidgeted in my seat, feeling as if every second was being wasted, but I couldn't find anything to say fill the silence.

Finally, I spoke: "Sorry, Marisol, I don't mean to ... you know ..."

She smiled and shook her head. "Go ahead."

I took a deep breath. "Is it that ... person? The one who loves beaches?"

Her expression was answer enough. I didn't need to look into her eyes to see a reflection of myself; I saw the dread and the guilt I carried like a bad habit. The determination to love someone who just wouldn't love you as much. The smooth edges corroded by years of being picked apart and never being put back together the right way.

She tried to hide it all behind a smile, but it was close-lipped and weak, like she was preparing for a jab at her crooked teeth.

"It's that obvious, then?" she asked with a hollow laugh.

"No," I said, surprising myself with the conviction in my tone. "I just know what to look for."

I smiled brightly enough for both of us. She blinked away the tears in her eyes because it was all too much for one night. I understood the sentiment, and frankly, I was a little scared myself. But I also felt more awake than I had in months. I'd walk away, though, if she asked me to.

Instead, she swallowed thickly and reached for my hand. Her fingertips were freezing cold while mine were far too hot. Together we made the perfect equilibrium.

We didn't say much on the ride home. I didn't ask her what she was going to do or going to say, I simply let her hand go and gave her another smile.

"See you tomorrow?"

She gave me a wide smile. "Not if I see you first."

Her words echoed through my mind as I trudged up the driveway. On a normal night, I would stand on the porch for a while to gather my wits before facing Veronica. Tonight I looked west, where the sun had set, and thought about what I was going to say. How I was going to tell sweet Ronnie that she was safety and security, but she wasn't home anymore.

And how, for the first time in a long time, I was excited for tomorrow.