Bus 212 was half-way through the intersection of Sixth and Barley when the Rider truck’s brakes failed. The heavy truck plowed into the side of the big city bus at ten miles above the thirty miles-per-hour speed limit. The driver of the moving truck, having forgotten to wear his seat belt, was thrown into the windshield, his body blocked by the large steering wheel so that only his head connected with the glass. The clock on the dash stopped ticking at 10:03am. Slowly, the tiny spider web crack that was pressed against the man’s head filled with blood and turned bright red. From inside the bus rose a soft wailing, the sound of a frightened, injured woman. The bus ride to Stafford Business Park and Mall South, which had begun just as it did every other day, came to an abrupt and violent end. Where moments before had been friendly chatter and peaceful reflection, there was fear, pain, and disorder.
*****
There was a man across the aisle. He was traveling with his little boy. The child tugged at his father’s sleeve, but the man was busy reading the paper and didn’t pay attention. Right away I knew that I didn’t like that man. I turned and stared out the window.
The bus rattled to a stop, and passengers shuffled. When I turned back, the man and his son were gone, vanished into the crowd of pedestrians moving past the bus stop. My eyes met with a pretty young lady. This was a mistake, for as soon as our eyes met she began to talk. I sighed and fidgeted while she prattled on about her infant who was sick in the hospital. She didn’t get the hint. I turned back to the window to stare at the dirty buildings and gray sky, the same today as it was yesterday, the same as it will be tomorrow. After a while, the woman quieted. I didn’t look back at her. I thought about what I had to do today. My wife wanted to go and play bingo down at the Center. I don’t like to go there. "Walter, you’re not sociable," she says. "You haven’t been in years." Perhaps she’s right.
*****
Karen loved this bus ride. Every day it was the same bus, the same driver, but something was always different about it. Today she sat next to a grumpy old man. He smelled like Ben-gay and Old Spice. Across from her was a talkative woman, who was telling the man about her son, sick in the hospital. Briefly Karen was saddened by this situation; the friendly woman trying to hide her anxiety and the grouch who pretended not to care.
"They’re keeping him overnight for more tests," the woman said. "He sure is having a lot of tests."
"I’m sure he’ll be well in no time," Karen said brightly. Her sadness never lasted long. Especially not on the bus. It’s such a cheerful bus, she thought. Bright blue and shiny silver, long and sleek. The windows were clouded with the breath of the passengers, peering out at the rain. She liked rain. It’s good for the garden.
She could hardly wait to get to the office. They all knew her there by now. The secretary smiled at her each day. "Go right in, Miss Mills," she always said. Louise was pleased when Karen came to see Mr. Grant in the morning, because it meant he would give her an extra long lunch. Impatiently, Karen smoothed her wool skirt. The other passengers smiled at her as she looked around. It was a gray day, but there was light in her eyes.
*****
Sirens wailed in the distance, coming rapidly closer. The light rain continued to fall as the bruised, disoriented passengers stumbled down the steps of the bus and onto the sidewalk. Shocked pedestrians stared in disbelief, a few of them stepping forward to assist the injured. Walter was laying on the floor of the bus on the opposite side from where he had been sitting moments before. The impact had thrown him across the bus. Above him, a broken window gaped. Groaning, he struggled to his feet, clutching his broken arm close to his ribs. He looked towards the door of the bus, and back to where he had been sitting, and wondered briefly where the young lady who had been seated next to him was.
*****
Scott Appleton glanced at his watch. He still had plenty of time to look around at the mall before he went to meet his brother Josh. They always played football on Tuesdays, Josh’s day off. Glancing out the window at the drizzle, Scott grinned. Mud made football so much more interesting.
In the few months since he’d left home, Scott was really noticing his brother’s absence from his daily routine. Adjusting to dorm life had not been easy. Sometimes when he walked into the bathroom in the morning, he half expected to see Josh standing there, shaving. These Tuesdays were the only time they had anymore.
Suddenly cold, Scott pulled the sleeves of his cream-colored corduroy shirt down over his knuckles. He thought of the big, warm, waterproof coat he had left in the closet back at the dorm, and silently berated himself for his forgetfulness. Glancing at his faded green jeans and brown T-shirt, he decided he needed some new clothes. That would have to wait, though, until his next paycheck. He worked at the nearby shoe outlet on weekends, selling all manner of shoes to all kinds of people. Scott was six-foot-three, with blond hair and chocolatey brown eyes, so he made a pretty tidy sum off the commissions from women’s dress shoes. Still, even with the money from commissions, he was constantly running short of funds. College has a tendency to eat money voraciously.
*****
Once everyone was off the bus, Scott looked around to see what he could do to help. An old man stood not far from him, clutching his arm to his side and glancing around as though he were searching for something. Scott approached him slowly, so as not to startle him, and asked if there was anything he could do for the man.
"That girl, she’s not here," Walter said in a quiet voice. His eyes appeared to be vacant, like two windows looking in to an abandoned building.
"Where was she sitting, sir?" Scott asked.
Walter shuffled over to the side of the bus, trying to remember how far back he had been sitting. He stopped at about the middle of the bus and looked up. There above him, where there should have been a window, was a large whole, lined in jagged, teeth-like shards of glass. A small patch of gray wool was caught in the corner of the window opening, soaking up the rainwater that ran down the side of the bus. Walter’s mouth fell open and he stood staring at the empty window, letting the reality of it sink into him. "There," he said in a voice that nearly broke.
"Shit," Scott said under his breath. He turned and looked across the sidewalk, trying to figure out where she could have gone. Directly opposite the window was a small space between the copy shop and the laundromat. Several recycling bins and garbage cans lay somewhat tumbled at the entrance of that small alleyway. Peering closer, he thought he could make out the smooth black leather of a woman’s shoe protruding from the pile of refuse. A knot began to form in his stomach.
*****
Jeff Grant was having as difficult a morning as usual that Tuesday. Calls were coming in from nearly every one of his biggest clients, each with their own demands. Lunch meetings, afternoon appointments, dinner discussions, and business cocktails were scheduled with harried frenzy by competent but over-worked Louise. Jeff had hardly been off the phone all morning, and during the rare breaks between calls he worked diligently on his many investment projects. He was hardly aware of the passing time, but Louise kept one eye on the clock as she hurriedly typed in entries on his electronic calendar. By eleven she began to be concerned. Karen was always there promptly at ten-thirty. Even in rain like this, the bus had never been late. As much as she hated to disturb Jeff while he was working, after fifteen more minutes of waiting she felt compelled to bring it to his attention. She stood up from her desk in the reception area and knocked softly on his office door.
"Come in."
"Sorry to bother you, Jeff, but I thought you’d want to know that Karen isn’t here yet." Louise’s gently curving brows were drawn together over her kind, green eyes in a tense expression.
"She isn’t?" Jeff’s handsome face wrinkled into a frown. "Call her apartment and get back to me, please." He turned back to his paperwork and sat fidgeting with his pencil while Louise returned to her desk and tried to get through to Karen’s apartment. There was no answer. Pausing to think for only a moment, Jeff jumped up and put on his coat. "Louise, I’m going for a drive. If she missed the bus, she’s out there walking in this blasted rain. I’ll be back in time for that meeting with Jenkins."
"Okay. Don’t forget the cell phone!" she called out, and he grabbed if off the wall cradle and was out the door.
*****
Walter’s tired old eyes followed Scott’s line of vision and came to rest on the disheveled cluster of garbage cans. Moving each foot very slowly, as though his shoes had become weighted down somehow, he stepped closer to the heap. Instinctively, Scott reached out and put a hand on his uninjured shoulder.
"Don’t go over there, mister. It won’t be pretty."
Like a robot, Walter shrugged off the boy’s hand and kept moving, drawn inexorably closer to the gruesome spectacle that he knew awaited him. His mind wandered back in time to that day, years ago, when he had slowly approached a different body, a young man, his precious body robbed of life for thirty-eight dollars and some loose change. Staring down at the lifeless body of his only son, Walter Bookman had thought nothing would ever have that kind of effect on him again. He just wouldn’t care that much, and then he couldn’t be hurt that deeply.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to be stopped, Scott groaned and stepped forward to accompany him. When they reached the edge of the alleyway, they both stopped short. Tears welled up in Scott’s large brown eyes, but as he turned away from the sight toward Walter, he was met with a wall of stone. The old man’s face was completely blank, his body rigid. My God, Scott thought, doesn’t he feel anything?
Out on the sidewalk, EMT’s patiently and efficiently examined each passenger, seeking out those with the gravest injuries. Police officers worked to block off the scene of the accident and divert the increasing lunch break traffic. The street began to return to some sense of order.
*****
Jeff was nearly a third of the way along the bus route, scanning the sidewalks for some indication that his girlfriend might be walking to the office, when he saw flashing lights up ahead. Dread and anxiety hit him like a punch in the stomach. Whipping into the first parking spot he saw, Jeff got out and ran down the street, taking in the flattened Rider cab and the semi-caved-in side of the bus in a blur as he searched the sea of faces for the girl he loved. Dashing about the sidewalk frantically, he didn’t see the patch of broken glass ahead of him, and slipped, bumping into a young man and nearly falling.
Scott turned quickly and helped him regain his balance. After he was standing all right, Jeff continued to grip Scott’s arm. His face showed the beginnings of wild, desperate fear. "You’ve got to help me," he said hoarsely.
Scott stood silent, still in shock, and turned back to look again at the pile of garbage cans. Jeff followed his gaze. A strangled sound erupted from his throat, and he stumbled forward. There she was. Her shiny brown hair was matted with blood and clung to her misshapen head. Her neck bent back at an impossible angle, and her limbs hung loosely among the recycling bins. Jeff stood there and stared, his chest heaving with the effort of holding in his grief. Glancing back and forth from one man to the other, Scott felt absolutely helpless. These men were much older than him, and he had thought they would know what to do, but neither one of them moved. Something had to be done for this grieving man, and not knowing where else to turn, wishing desperately for Josh’s guidance, he tugged on the old man’s sleeve.
"DO something!" he whispered urgently.
Walter turned suddenly, as though he had just woken up from a dream, and stared blankly at Jeff. He saw how stubbornly Jeff fought to hold down his emotions, saw him slowly turning into himself, a bitter, lonely old man. And something inside him stirred.
"Let it out, man, let it out," he said in a gentle tone. He stepped closer to Jeff and put a warm, fatherly hand on his shoulder. Tears were forming in his eyes as he said, "Just let go. It’ll kill you inside if you don’t."
"But she’s the one who’s dead!" Jeff shouted, and the dam broke. A low rumble of thunder signaled the beginning of a downpour, but he didn’t notice. Convulsive sobs shook his body over and over again. Not knowing anything else to do, Scott approached the two men and put a hand on each of their shoulders. And then they were all crying, these three men, fresh tears of grief and fear, old tears for others long gone. As the rain continued to fall, it mixed with their tears, running down their faces, and dripped to the ground, where it scurried away in little cleansing rivulets of oily rainbows.