Kristen

I turn the corner and I see her off in the distance standing there beside the bus stop waiting for me. Her wavy brown hair is blowing in a chilled fall breeze and her shoulders are drawn up tight as if she is waiting for something or someone to jump out at her. She is scanning the busy streets as if she is searching for a threat and I can’t help but wonder how exhausting it must be to be that tense all the time. As if she heard my thoughts she yawns, her mouth open wide and no attempt to stifle it or cover her mouth. She has never been one for manners but for some reason that has never bothered me. She turns to face me, gives me a tight smile and lifts her left hand in a sort of wave that doesn’t move but acknowledges my existence. The fake smile falls away and she returns to scanning the streets. The bus is due in 10 minutes and I know we will sit side by side, as usual, until we get to our neighborhood. I will walk her to her door and hover as long as I can, hoping something will be different this time and she will invite me in, but she won’t. She will give me that fake smile, thank me and let herself into her apartment. I will hear the click of the deadbolt being turned back and once more she will shut me out of her life. I’m so in love with her it hurts, but no matter how hard I try she won’t let me in.

“Hey,” I say, “How was your day?”

“Fine, I guess,” she says.

I sit down next to her on the bench to wait for the bus. I open my mouth to try and get more out of her but before I can speak her phone starts going off. She pulls it out and looks at the screen to see whose calling and whatever she sees makes her turn pale white. I notice her hand shaking and I know that whoever is calling, is not someone she wants to talk with.

“Hello,” she says.

I can hear a male voice coming from the speaker but I can’t understand what he is saying. She turns her back to me and listens to whoever is calling.

“No,” she says. “No, I will take care of it, I promise.”

I hear the male voice again, this time louder and I can tell that whoever it is, is angry. Hearing someone speaking that loudly to her and watching her shake makes me angry and I fight the urge to rip the phone away from her and tell whoever is speaking to fuck off.

“Please, no. Look, I’m sorry, just don’t…” she says and I can tell she’s starting to cry. “…don’t come here. I’m going to take care of it. It’s my fault and I am going to fix it, I promise.”

She is full on crying now and she has started rocking.

“No!” she pleads into the phone. “No, I’m not avoiding you, I promise. I just have a lot going on, but don’t worry about this. I’m going to handle it before the day is over.”

The bus is approaching now, and I stand up in front of her to kind of protect her from anyone staring at her when they get off the bus, she hates it when she catches someone looking at her.

“Ok…I’m sorry. I will fix this and then call you later tonight. Okay?” she says and I can hear her trying to catch her breath. “Ok, bye.”

She hangs up with him and stand up just as the bus opens its doors. People spill out onto the sidewalk and I immediately put myself as a barrier between her and them. I don’t want her to feel like anyone is watching her and I don’t want anyone to bump into her either. She hates it when people touch her, and I know that when she’s this worked up, it would feel even more horrific for her than it usually does.

I board the bus first and I can feel her behind me, closer than usual. I move into the back of the bus and sit right beside the window and she surprises me when she sits in the seat right beside me. Usually she puts her bags next to me and sits on the other side of her bags, but today she sits next to me and puts her bags on the other side.

“Thanks,” she says to her feet, once she has settled.

“No problem,” I say. “Wait, what are you thanking me for?” I ask feeling silly. It’s such a southern culture thing to respond to a thank you without even being aware of what you are being thanked for. I hate when people do that, and I’m honestly a little embarrassed by myself for not catching myself.

“Oh, am…for not running off on my when I was on the phone…I know that must have seemed a little dramatic.”

“No, not at all,” I say, shifting in my seat so that my body is turned toward her. “Sounded to me like whoever was talking to you is a jerk. If you need me to beat someone up for you I will.”

She laughs and glances up at me and I see her real smile and my heart swells a little.

“Very funny,” she says, bumping me with her shoulder.”

She touched me. I’m dumbfound, because she never touches me, in fact she goes to strange length not to touch me and now it feels like my heart will explode. Something is different today and now I have to know what. My curiosity about the phone call increases.

“Ha, you think I’m being funny do you?” I say, winking at her. “But the truth is I would take on the world for you.”

I can’t believe I said that. She’s quiet and I can’t blame her. I turn toward the window and place my heated cheek to the cool glass. I know that all of the blood in my body in in my face now and I really want to disappear more than anything right now.

“Um…wow,” she says, finally breaking the silence. “That’s um…well…flattering, I guess…thanks.”

“No problem,” I say to the bus window.

We ride in silence for a few minutes and I can feel her eyes on my back. I can’t believe I said that out loud. After what seems like an eternity I turn back to her and I pray silently that my face isn’t the color of a fire engine anymore.

“Is everything ok?” I ask.

She starts rocking again and picking at her nails. I haven’t seen her like this since the first day I say next to her on this bus. She looks as though she would tear her own skin off if she could. I feel a strong desire to put my hand on top of her hands and get her to stop. I don’t like watching her hurt herself and it pains me to see her hurting like this. I clench my hands and try and find the right words. I want to make her laugh again but I can’t come up with anything funny to say. Actually what I really want is to hold her, but I know that this would just be way too much so I push myself back toward the wall of the bus.

Finally I decide to go with touching her hands...mostly because I can’t come up with anything to say. I reach over and place my hand on top of her hands. Her hands are soft and warm, which surprises me. Most girls have cold hands, but hers are warm and I like it. Her hands still below mine and I finally get the courage to look at her. I look up into her eyes and see she’s crying. My heart breaks into a bunch of tiny pieces when I see the pain written on her face. She sobs and I cave. I shift myself in my seat and wrap my arms around her and pulls her against my chest and much to my surprise she doesn’t pull away.

“What’s going on?” I ask, squeezing her tight.

“I’m sorry,” she says and she starts pulling away.

“No,” I say and I pull her back. “Don’t apologize to me. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help. Whatever it is I can help, just tell me.”