Bus Stop

So I wrote this sketch with one of my recurring characters, Marchosias, last spring.  I was going through my writing folder, read it over and decided I really liked it.  But that's just me.  So, here you go.

11 April 2013

            Marchosias walked to the corner of the street and stopped.  The bus was late.  He knew this despite the fact that he did not ride the bus.  The only reason he cared was because she was supposed to be on the bus, or rather, she was supposed to exit the bus at this stop.  But since she was not there, it meant the bus had not reached this point, and therefore, the bus was late.  He decided he would wait.  For a little while.

            He leaned against the blue metal shelter and watched the cars pass by on the street in front of him.  He never liked cars.  They had always been too noisy in his opinion.  And they stank.  They stank of grease and oil.  Their fire was rank with exhaustion, different from the purity of a wood or coal fire.  That fire was good, and smelled like happiness itself in Marchosias’s opinion.  He picked at the dark particles caught beneath his fingernails.

            It was at this moment a group of teenagers happened to walk under the bus shelter.  They carried backpacks and books, and laughed as they pushed and poked at one another.  Marchosias crossed his arms across his chest and retreated to the back of the little blue bus shelter.  There were three of them in total; two boys with floppy hair that hung over their eyes, and a girl wearing a beanie over closely cropped, bleached hair.  She had a piercing in her lip, a black ring with a red plastic pearl.  She flashed a brief smile at Marchosias then turned back to her friends.  The taller of the boys pulled out a cigarette and metallic butane lighter.  He flicked at the lighter several times but on each pass the flame went out before the cigarette could catch.

            “Must be outta juice,” grumbled the boy.  He turned to Marchosias, the cigarette poking from the corner of his lips.  “Hey, you got a light?”

            Marchosias flicked something from the sleeve of his shirt.  “Are you even eighteen?”

            The boy took the cigarette from his mouth.  “Does it matter?”

            “Not to me, no.”  Marchosias went back to inspecting the sleeve of his jacket.

            “Look, man, do you have a lighter or not?”

            Marchosias paused, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a match and held it out to the boy.  The boy reached to take it, his hand wavering hesitantly as he watched Marchosias’s face. 

            “Thanks.”  He placed the cigarette back on his lips and bent down to strike the match on the concrete.  It lit up instantly in a sharp blossom of blue and orange.  The boy held it to the end of the cigarette and took a long drag.  The end burned with the glow of an ember.  He extinguished the match with a quick shake then dropped it on the ground and stamped it out.  He stood up and took another deep draw, the smoke settling in his mouth before he exhaled it out in a long ghost-like curl.  He passed it to his friend, who had been watching their exchange nervously. 

            This boy was fatter.  His sweater stuck to his arms like plastic wrap, and the zipper, only partially done up, seemed like it was ready to give up.  He held the cigarette between his shaking thumb and forefinger, inhaled quickly, and coughed out a stream of smoke.  The taller boy laughed and punched him in the shoulder.  They turned to face the street now, ignoring the stranger they had found. 

The girl took the cigarette next.  Marchosias watched as she turned it over in her hand, holding the filter between her index and middle fingers, lightly as if she had seen it done a hundred times in the movies or on television.  She pressed it to her lips and kept it there for a moment, mimicking the practiced draw her taller friend had done before, though the release of smoke was much smaller. 

Marchosias snorted under his breath.

The girl glanced back, the cigarette once more posed at her lips.  She quickly turned around and handed the burning stick back to her tall friend who flicked away the accumulating ash on the end.

She pulled on the sleeve of the tall boy.  “When’s the bus coming?”

The cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as he pulled his cell phone out and flicked the tiny screen to life.  “Shoulda been here by now.”

The girl nodded and looked back at Marchosias.  She was glaring now, her lips pouted out.  Her hands fiddled with the seams of the pockets on her skinny jeans.  She turned back to her friend and plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stuck it in her own.  Her eyes returned to their previous glaring.

Marchosias shifted his weight to his other foot and once more folded his arms across his chest.  He returned the girl’s stare, holding it with his own of uncaring aloofness. 

The girl lifted the cigarette from her apple-red lips and traces of the lipstick stuck to it.  She let the smoke she had been slowly inhaling slink its way from her mouth.  Marchosias wondered if she had practiced this in front of a mirror before.

The two boys did not notice any of this, as they were discussing some game or movie, and so it was plain the girl’s performance was solely for him.  He cocked his head to the side and gave her the smallest of smiles. 

Her cheeks immediately flushed red.

A horn honked. The faded turquoise bus pulled up in that moment.  The girl hurriedly threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed it out with the heel of her flat.  Then she and her friends entered the bus.  She took a seat at the window and stared out at Marchosias expectantly. 

But his eyes were not on her anymore.  They were on the woman exiting the bus in a huff.  She carried three bags, a laptop case, a backpack, and a small purse which had somehow become entangled around her neck.  Marchosias took the backpack and the laptop case out of the woman’s arms and draped them across his own shoulders, which freed the purse strap around her neck.  She stood up on her toes to kiss his mouth before they began walking back down the sidewalk.

The girl with the beanie and apple-red lipstick watched all this from the bus and felt her stomach fall just slightly.  She watched the two walk on, the dark-haired woman talking animatedly while the man listened and laughed in response to the things she said. 

The bus took off again.  Before it could pass the couple though, the man with coal black hair and tanned skin who had lent them a match looked over his shoulder.  His eyes flashed in that moment and the girl with apple-red lipstick could swear he had looked at her directly.  With two fingers he mimicked the way she had been holding her cigarette, and put them up to his mouth. 

Then with a smile he exhaled, and in that breath the girl could have sworn she saw a plume of grey smoke.