The Bus Stop

"Gray day, isn't it?" The old man's gruff voice reaches her just right before she was about to put on her earphones. With an inaudible sigh, she realized this was one of those polite conversations with bus stop passengers that she just can't quite escape. She puts down the pink wired buds on her lap before turning towards the man and smiled.

"What do you mean gray?" She asked, wondering that for all the adjectives the world had come up with, he chose a color to describe the sky, the area, or whatever the day could specifically pertain to. She had to admit, it made her curious, a curiosity enough to make her smile before replying.

"Gray sky, a kind of sky just waiting to be break into raindrops. Gray road. Gray, somber people. It's all gray." He told her. His words made her look up to the sky and true enough, the clouds were an overcast that threatens to wash anew her small, warm city. But somber people? They were the only ones at the bus stop.

"Who's somber?" His words made her wonder and feel like there's more to them than the literal meaning and polite chatter to bide the time away. As much as she doesn't really like conversations with strangers, this man had an aura that draws her in, like a grandfather calling on his grandchildren with a promise of a wonderful story by the fireplace.

"You, me. You with your pink, coffee-stained jacket and mismatched pastel socks. They don't quite hide the gloom and anxiety in that head of yours, do they? School troubles? Work? Home?" She looked at him with both awe and intrigue. Indeed, she was worried. She was running late for her first class and her teacher was awfully fond of giving surprise quizzes.

"You're curious. I am indeed worried. But what makes you somber? You with your pressed shirt and neat jacket, you're going somewhere nice. What's somber about that?" She turned the question against him, and as she did, she realized that he reminded her greatly of her own Pops. A man who looked confident and dapper on the outside, but you'd know he wasn't quite happy when the wrinkles on his face appear less and deeper.

"Oh I am going somewhere nice. Or maybe it's just nice because she's there." More wrinkles appeared around his eyes and cheeks as his lips pulled into a soft smile. She could see happy thoughts dance in his eyes. But something's missing.

"She's the most beautiful gal I've ever seen. When she's mad, she'd chase me with mismatched slippers, and we'd run across town until she'd forget about being angry and just laughed." Memories made his eyes watery, and even she can't help but feel nostalgic.

"You don't live together?" She was curious about a beautiful girl who could make a man soft.

"No we don't. But we're going to. We're going to be together once again." His voice cracked with both hope and sadness, and her heart reached out to him. In an effort to cheer him up, she asked him a question.

"So, you're headed for a date. That's quite nice. But not somber, don't you think?"

"Ahh, child. The destination may be pretty, but the journey is not." He looked at her, and for a moment, she caught sight of a golden locket held in the fist of his hand, and she knew, right then, that it was from the woman he was about to meet.

"Well, we don't really have cool and sleek buses like those in other cities. All we've got are rusted, behemoths with air-conditioned air that smells of acid and sweat. You'd be lucky to get a seat with the plastic cover still on and the seat cover unstained. Not to mention all the potholes and traffic jams along the way." He laughed a healthy, full chuckle at her description of their city's infamous bus trips. She wasn't lying though, bus trips could be a pain in the ass, so she let herself settle with the thought that the old man was just dreading the trip.

For a good three minutes, they sat there in silence, she with her earbuds on and scrolling through her mobile phone, him with his hand still clutching that locket, eyes checking the watch on his left hand now and then. Soon, she felt him stand up near the roadside in anticipation of the bus, but she decided she would get up at last minute.

With that, she couldn't quite conclude if that was a good decision. If she stood up the last minute, it wouldn't be enough to stop the bus from hitting the old man. She'd just watch in horror and trauma as the impact hits him with such force, it throws him harshly on the asphalt, and blood trickles from his head onto the gray road. 

Since she hadn't stood up, she didn't see anything. All she knew was that she heard people scream, and she saw the old man there, spread eagle on the gray road, beneath the gray sky, still clutching the locket in his fist, close to his heart. She ran towards him and joined the growing crowd of passengers who got off the bus to look on at a nameless, old man who thought that today was a gray day.

She didn't last a few seconds as the gore made her back away to collect herself on the side. She thought of their conversation, and how eager he was to meet a woman. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she saw an old man, just like him, neat jacket, pressed shirt, putting on the locket around a woman just a bit younger than him. After it was put on, he held her hand, and they walked into the distance, figures growing hazier, until they seemed to just fade into the light and no one else saw them but her.

Days later, she'd watch the news, and she'd find out that the CCTV cameras around the bus stop had caught incident live. He had stepped in front of the bus last moment. She'll know, that indeed, the day was gray, the destination was pretty, but his journey was not.