Waiting for the Last Bus Home

Waiting for the Last Bus Home 

It was a quiet evening. The dark of the night seemed to hold a secret I had yet to find.

The moon was a perfect half cresent, almost too perfect to be captured as the truth in a painting, and the sky was fluttered with the stars of a thousand dreams.

I was happily walking home, lost in my own dreams and wonder when suddenly, my ankle gave way as my heel sunk in a gap between the grey paving slabs.

I noticed a bus shelter next to me and the old wooden bench looked like the perfect place for me to rest.

I sat down on the bench and started to rub my ankle. It was a while before I glanced up and noticed her, sat on the old, wooden bench. I knew without a doubt, that she was waiting for the last bus home. 

I could tell there were troubles dancing on her mind; there's a certain sadness that oozes from the silence of broken hearts.

Her hair was beautifully styled; each strand seemed to fall gently on her cheeks like paint sliding down a canvas of abstract perfection.

Her hands were tightly balled together as if they held the treasures of all the world; her knuckles whitening with the force of her will to hold on to the secret she carried. 

It was the lifts of her breath I heard first; the small jumps of air that catch in our throat when our eyes have tired from tears. When I looked closer, I could see that her beautiful hair masked a tired, worn and washed out face. Each tiny wrinkle seemed to carry a story of lost hope that hid in the hollows of her fading skin. She couldn't hide the pain from me, I feel the shadows when they call.

"It's ok"

I whispered gently.

She jerked her head up to see me; startled by the break in silence.

She studied my face, her eyes skimming my features for comfort and assurance. Her eyes glanced mine, but there was no strength in her trust to hold the gaze for long.

She breathed in, still fighting the short breaths that revealed her vulnerability. When she breathed out, I felt a warm glow within, acknowledging that my peace had touched her.

There was a serenity that started to radiate from her eyes, but there were still shadows that danced around her; I felt the pain of their burden. 

"Can you help me?"she whimpered

"I'm here for you. The bus will be here soon. I will wait with you. It's ok. I'm here now"

Her eyes met mine with such a softness that it held my heart in song for a moment; such a loving soul. My heart panged a little as I stepped back to the reality of me, with her, waiting for the bus.

We paused in silence for a while, our eyes locked in true connection. In that moment, our souls became one. I felt the depth of her jagged scars; I tasted each of her bleeding wounds as they scratched my truth like the eagle's claw.

A bubble of empathy burst from my eye as I felt the weight of her journey.

Such a heavy journey; such a tiring road. She was ready to go home. 

"Don't worry now. She is waiting for you. You will see her soon."

Her eyes lifted in hope and she eagerly looked around as if she had heard the bus in the distance.

" Will they let me on?"

She asked with a worried look.

" You already have the ticket, look "

She looked down at her white-knuckled clenched hands with confusion. Her eyes glanced my way and I smiled my heart to her as she gently released the tightness in each fist. Her fingers stretched out to reveal a wrinkled ball of paper in her hand. She unravelled it with excitement.

"Yes, yes, I do, I have the ticket here!...

But, does she remember me?"

"As if it were yesterday" I gently replied.

I felt the bus before it arrived; the whoosh of energy from it's ever turning wheels can be felt in the core of my soul.

It came to a stop and the doors slowly opened.

She looked at me as the dazzling lights from the bus radiated onto the grey, sad pavement, and I saw a smile in her eyes.

I smiled at her and nodded my encouragement to her. She took a deep breath and stepped onto the bus.

The doors closed in silence and the bright light vanished in the dark night as swiftly as it had arrived. 

I watched the bus fade slowly into the distance, my eyes fixated on the empty space of its departure.

I stood in silence for a while before the tears dripped from my heart in tiny splashes onto the dry, cold pavement.

I felt such headiness as each drop trickled out the dark from misplaced shadows of a lost soul now found, and I felt a familiar glow as the pain transmuted to warmth in my heart. 

I lifted a tissue from my pocket and dabbed the corner of each eye with the soft cloth. I took a deep breath, raised my head, and allowed my feet to carry me home.

As I wandered down the familiar street of painted facades, my heels clicking a rhythm down the empty road, a rush of peace came over me. I looked up with love as I felt the beauty of the wondrous night take my thoughts, dazzling me with a knowing. I held the moon in my heart in that moment and, in the distance I felt the echo of love sing in me as the faint giggle of a child's laughter sounded through the vast darkness of the night sky.

A star twinkled at me, then another, and another until a chorus of twinkles sang to my soul. Time seemed to stand still as I felt the warmth of my purpose; my true purpose.

I had danced with my shadows and touched the clouds; tortured my own soul trying to reach for what was never meant for me. I spent so many years searching for a label, a title, a sign that told the world I was here, but now, the silent, trusting skies guided me to the simple truth. There is no title to my purpose; no badge; no label.

I simply offer advise, to those waiting, on how to travel light, and to remind them where their ticket is. I shine light on their shadows so the road can be seen with clarity and stay with them until they dissapear into the dazzling glow of the last bus home. 

Heather Lea