Familiar

The bus stopped. None called for it. I stood on the platform. I definitely didn’t call for it. The name plate wasn’t my cue. Indeed, I didn’t think it was for anyone either. ‘Sky-high’ wasn’t even a place. Who did they tease now? 

The night was darker the minute. Now it wasn’t moving. I looked at it. 

It was velvety black and full of windows. I couldn’t see anyone. A rainbow shone on its rear. It wasn’t 3D art I figured. All seven colors intense at night, a non-rainy night. It was flowing like a river down its edge mixing into the crispy white mist that was gathering. I felt haunted. The tires were the smoothest I’ve ever seen -too worn out for any gravity road. 

Crispy white mists of cloud were filling my feet. I couldn’t see my boots anymore. The bus didn’t move. Neither did my home ride arrive. I called out. But none. I looked around. But none. So I stood still, staring at the bus that stopped. 

I glared even more. I felt the glow on me brighten. I looked further up to see stars. An entire galaxy upon my eye hanging on my head. 

I was waiting for an eternity. Then I knocked. A rat-a-tat on the small glossy window I could reach. I saw my own reflection. I stared at it until I distorted time started to fall apart in front of my eyes. 

Slowly, there was a whoosh and the window opened. Little by little it opened more and more. Then it stopped. 

I couldn’t see inside. It was pitch black. 

‘Hello’ I called out 

I propped forwards.

Suddenly, a hand appeared out of thin air in a shake 

I shriek out.

A faceless hand out of nowhere. It was no-one. And then a voice. Familiar but unrecognized. 

‘Hello’ 

‘I’ll drop you home’

The hand was evermore the most enticing. The voice soothed my mind. 

There was none and my ride was late. Why not another? 

The hand still hung in the air, and I charmingly held out mine. 

One blink of an eye and I’m inside the window. It was that small, how did I even fit in. 

I look around. It’s the busiest bus I’ve ever seen.

‘Hello’ I called out again. I could feel a sudden jerk and I ran for the window. I could only see stars. The station wasn’t anywhere and we were moving. I could see a red shift for real. 

Suddenly the hand appeared on my shoulder. It was no-one again. I freaked out. 

I was pushed on a plush chair and given a pink popsicle. It was my favorite.

‘How did you know?’ I asked no-one. 

‘I know when you know’ 

The hand pushed me around but I felt I was floating in mid air. Where was I? 

We moved through the bus. I said it was the busiest. So many little figures worked and played all throughout. 

Number one was writing. A feathered pen smoothly moved on a crispy paper as words flowed filling the pages in moments silence. The ink was the finest black I’ve ever seen. The tip moved so fast and the words dried as I read the non ending script unfolded.  ‘The girl at the station’ it was named. It was descriptive, exact and amazingly creative with added humor and excitement. It ended, ‘Will you be a writer?’ And the book closed. 

The hand jerked me forwards. I looked back as to answer a rhetoric. Number one was now sitting down in a queue staring into the starry window. 

Number two was singing. The songs changed with the pitch and rhythm as it moved from one song to another smoothly occasionally changing from language to language. I could hear myself singing along to Taylor Swift, then the Backstreet Boys, and then the BTS. Just the favorites of my own collection. It was sweet and wonderful. A voice familiar but unrecognized. 

We moved forwards. Number three was playing. Nothing but tennis. I was amazed as it was happening on a bus. Who played tennis on a bus? Well twas table tennis. So competitive and ruthless. Shots that called for cheer and uproar as the winner emerged. I looked on in surprise. I touched the table of tennis and my table back home came flooding. ‘Wanna play?’

I licked on my popsicle. It smelled strawberry and tasted the sweetest pinky I’ve ever had. The next down the bus wipe was number four I counted. Books were all around and was reading, a monocle in the eye. I peeped in. Physics in-depth with a quadrillion equations covered the pages. I loved the view of it. He closed the book, clasped it with both hands and joined the queue behind. 

The hand pushed me. I stood next to number five, a worshipper in white. Hands together on the forehead on the knees, murmuring stanzas of life and beyond. I automatically threw the popsicle and raised mine. 

We were closing the rear of the bus and at the end lay an artist- six. Laying on the ground painting a rainbow. The shiny glow overflowing, it was the rainbow I saw. It spilled and seeped out to the unknown. The brush strokes made me dance to a rhythm. I could feel myself in paint being painted by myself. 

I peeped through the rear glass, out to a zenith unknown. A starry gaze into the infinity of darkness. The hand stooped on my shoulder. I looked back. 

I could see myself in the reflection of a perfect eye. Me looking directly into my own eyes. 

I followed myself back down the path along the queue. I looked from six, five, to four and three until one. Quietly and observant. They all looked at me. 

It was all me. A multiple version of me in parallel universes. 

I felt a calling. The ride was shaking now, as the lights flickered and the horn honked in a baying howl. 

‘Choose’ called the familiar voice. This time it was clearer. I’ve heard it before. I listened repeating the echo in my head.

‘One choice and a dream come true’ it continued. 

It was me. I was calling out to me. It was me. 

I looked at the hand and the six. Faceless figures that suddenly started becoming me. 

I stared as various phases of me shaped in front of my own eyes. Me writing, singing, swinging the racket, reading, worshipping and creating art. Twas all of me. 

I stood astonished. 

‘Choose one and pursue’ said the voice again.

‘Okay’ I stammered

The story repeated in my mind. 

Suddenly the bus came to a halt with a jerk forwards. 

I stumbled on my side and I woke up. 

I stared at the ceiling in the dark. 

No bus, no hands or starry skies. 

Just me. 

The dream catcher swung in the open window breeze. 

It was 2am.