"An Incident in Which a Late Bus Nearly Changed the World"

"An Incident in Which a Late Bus Nearly Changed the World"

He says he gets nervous around really beautiful women.

But the problem is, she's not beautiful

and he doesn't seem afraid of anything in the world.

They sit across from each other at a bus station

while a messy autumn rain causes wet leaves to stick to passersby,

as if to prove a point that you can never shake yourself free

from all of life's little nuances.

He's got blue collar hands and blue collar hair;

a look that says his hands work too hard to find themselves

nestled in those of a beautiful woman,

and a his hair is only ever cut to keep it out of his eyes.

She looks down at her book of poetry,

wondering if she would ever amount to such a desire

that would drive a man to write about her the way

T. S. Eliot speaks of love.

She stares intently at the yellowed pages

as the words begin to blur:

“Love is most nearly itself

When here and now cease to matter.”

He studies her movements,

turning pages like placing flowers in a jar.

She pretends not to see him,

painfully aware, as she feels like each page

turns with the force of door after door

slamming shut on her future.

He speaks not a word.

She moves nothing but her hands and her eyes.

At 3:17pm on a Thursday afternoon

the uptown and east-side buses arrive,

and the strangers pass one another

without a second glance.

At precisely 3:19pm the rain finally lets up,

weary from defeat.

The sky had poured out its soul unto them

in hopes of forcing them onto the same crowded benches
in hopes of giving them a reason to talk;

who doesn't engage in meaningless conversation about the weather

when in the company of strangers?

That was their chance.

He was supposed to ask about her book.
She was supposed to tell him it was the only thing

the airline didn't lose when she landed.

He was supposed to ask her where she was going.

He was supposed to tell her 12^th Street was on the East side.

They were supposed to ride the same line together.

The bus was supposed to get a flat tire in the rain.

They were supposed to talk for an hour,

stranded on the side of the highway.

She was the one not meant to get away.
He was the answer to all her shooting star wishes.

But he never spoke.

Because beautiful women make him nervous.

And she never spoke

because she wasn't beautiful –

to anyone but him.

In silence.

In the rain.

And she would never be beautiful again.