On the bus.

It was a regular Saturday and my routine started early in the morning, being on the bus heading to work. Some minutes before, my alarm clock had yelled at me several times, until I clumsily turned it off and sat at the edge of my bed wishing I had more time to sleep; ultimately, it was the weekend, good heavens. Anyways, there in the bus I was, in a window seat with my bag on my lap and my lunch box next to my right foot, on the floor, already awake and alert after that cheese sandwich and hot coffee I had had for breakfast. My book in my hands, since the best time for me to read was on my rides in the bus, and being a Saturday, the bus was half empty and quiet, less traffic on the streets than during the weeks and there was more tranquility to enjoy a good reading. 

It began being just another day but turned into something different real quickly, before 8:30 a.m. to be precise. It is fascinating how coincidences happen; how I had taken the same bus at the same time during the past thirteen months, and indeed, this day takes the prize on synchronicity to my bad luck.

Stirring and submerged in the middle of the plot, this book was giving me chills while my eyes moved from left to right in every line of the page. Each paragraph made me stop and sigh in astonishment of what I was reading, this is real good writing, I thought. For some minutes, I got lost in a cloud where only that story existed, that I had to force myself to detach my gaze from the page and look through the window, to check where the bus was passing, in anticipation of the bus stop I had to get off. It would take a while more, I thought every time, and dived again into my book for some more minutes. 

Half way, the bus made a stop that concurred with my looking up to check where I was. I could glance a tall guy, who entered the bus; good morning, he uttered addressing the bus driver, paid the fare and walked throughout the hall of the bus, and sat next to me, in the hall seat.

I could not help but notice that half of the bus was still empty, that some windows seats were still unoccupied, and hall seats as well, in case he did not like to sit at the window, but he sat next to me. My heart stopped, while I felt a sudden cold rising from my feet to my head in less than a second. I calmed myself. I convinced myself that there was nothing wrong with that, people just sit where they choose to; it does not mean they have second intentions. I decided I would keep reading. 

Where was I? All the letters of the page started to mingle. I could not focus on keeping reading, some sort of agitation was taking over me, I had a bad feeling that could not be explained with words.

Unexpectedly, I heard his voice. He was talking so soundlessly that it was almost a whisper; I turned my head in his direction and realized he was actually talking to me. He looked at me and repeated what he was saying and I did not decode a thing, I just uttered “Sorry, what?”, so he rose his voice just a little so I could understand and said “If you scream I’ll kill you”. He lowered his gaze pointing his stomach. I looked down, trembling, and that was the moment when he showed me the knife.

Am I a witch? How did I know? The bad feeling made sense.

I nodded, as I was responding telepathically, I won’t scream. 

He proceeded and said “What do you have in there? Your bag!” He seemed to yell at me with a sonorous expression in his wide open eyes. “Your cell phone, give it to me” I opened the bag and showed him its content.

A part of me was calm. I had hidden my cell phone in my lunch box; that kind of measures are normally taken when living in the third world, in countries where a robbery is never a surprise, although it is always scary and stressing, because you fear for your safety more than your property.  

Another part of me was petrified.  Fear took over me when I realized I was completely trapped by him. Literary trapped; I could not run away, I could not step away from him, from his proximity. Sitting on the window seat, what was I thinking? I am in his hands. What if he gets mad when not finding the cell phone, I should just left it in the bag for him, what if he hits me? What if he… stabs me? A casual robbery could escalate to horrible things just randomly.

Breaking the scene, he introduced his hand in the bag while I retained it opened towards him, grabbed strongly by the handles so it would not fall. I could feel his hand shuffling inside the bag.I just want it to be over. He opened the inner pocket of the bag and a memory jumped into my head at that very moment. I had money in there, how could I forget?

He took the money, and smiled. Afterwards he approached me “Be silent” he said. I nodded again. He stood up and walked towards the bus door. He requested the bus to stop, and got off the bus. He looked at me from the outside; his features are recorded in my brain since.

I looked around inside the bus, the other passengers were minding their businesses. Even if they noticed, nobody would dare to act and take risks.

Regarding coincidences, I usually try not to have big amounts of money with me, except from that Saturday; the day before, after I did not find my tenant in her house, I stupidly had saved the money for my rent in that inner pocket of the bag. Why did I do that? Thirteen months taking the same bus and I never leave home with a significant sum of money, and the only day I do, due to forgetfulness, this man appeared to take it. What are the odds?  

It was over, and about ten blocks from there I would get off the bus.