The Bus Stop

The Bus Stop

I see her every morning at the bus stop. She is dark haired and tall. Statuesque I’d guess you’d say. Her long dark hair is always piled high atop her head and her brown eyes are framed by little square glasses. They are also black. Usually she is bundled up and covered to the point where all I can see are her dark eyes and the warm breath escaping from the break in the scarf that covers her mouth.

Today, it was 19 degrees and with her face uncovered, she ventured to light a cigarette in the otherwise bitter winter we’ve been having. I could tell she was a polite smoker, keeping the lit end held close to the ground and away from the man that was standing at the bus stop with her. He seemed indignant as she exhaled a plume of smoke into the air, away from him. He sauntered from where his feet are usually planted while he waits to climb aboard the warm bus that will take him to I’ve no idea where.

I watched this young woman that I assumed would throw her middle fingers up at the rest of the world, drop the freshly lit cigarette into the snow. She mashed it out with her toad stompin’ boots (a description coined by my brother-in-law for the choice of boots I often wear), then turn to the man that stood next to her. She didn’t say anything to him, but I think she was trying to send him some kind of signal that she understood his disdain for her dirty habit.

My light turned green, I let my foot up on the brake and pressed the gas pedal. In my rear view mirror, I saw the man move back to his usual spot next to the dark haired woman. She turned her body away from him, finding comfort in their closeness, but not really.

I thought about other situations that we humans find ourselves in that may deem uncomfortable. Elevators, stadium or theater seats and conference rooms. They raise our anxiety, cause heart palpitations, and other forms of stress. The beautiful woman at the bus stop today gave the non-descriptive man that she usually stands with some comfort. Probably without even knowing it.

Isn’t that something we should all be doing, giving comfort? Or finding ways to of making things better for others? Such are the thoughts that fall out of my blond brain on my way to work on a Wednesday morning.



(I’m not sure how much I will be posting here. I’ve missed writing and sharing my thoughts with you all. Thank you for reading.)

14 thoughts on “The Bus Stop

  1. How delightful to see you again, darling. You’re in Michigan, right? Are you frozen, too? Very nice character sketch here in your observational writing. Just saying. Hey, you asked me to let you know when my book was coming out. If you’re still interested, I have a pre-order campaign I’m running. All you have to do is visit my blog and click on the SUPPORT HELENA link. I’ve got a buddy doing all the marketing work so I don’t have to feel like such a whore for selling myself (makes me feel icky). Don’t be a stranger! I’ve missed you! (oh, and you won’t even recognize my site now.)

    • Hello Dahlink,

      I’m in Michigan, and yep I’m pretty damn frozen. Today it’s in the 20’s. It’s a veritable heatwave.

      So glad you liked me story. I haven’t written anything in a long, long while. I’m not sure how much I’ll post. We’ll see.

      I’m so excited about your book! I’m going to check out your blog to find out more. I’ll be happy to do a little publicity for you.

      Love, Renee

    • Greetings my sweet,

      Sometimes this blonde girl has to write. You know how it is. 🙂

      Not sure how often I’ll drop by, but yeah, I need to write.

      Love, Renee

    • Dearest Rincewind,

      I’m so glad you loved it. I did too. I missed blogging. Guess I’ll come back a time or two.

      I miss you too. I hope all is well in your little world. Love you bunches.

      Love, Renee

  2. Dear Renee

    I was so pleased when your post dropped into my inbox. I have missed you.
    I loved your story, it reminds me that writers really don’t have to look far for inspiration, but of course a writer needs to be able to make the scene visible to the reader, which you do with great skill.

    I took a tiny break from writing too. It started when I found one day that I had nothing to say in response to an FF prompt, felt nothing I wrote was any good anyway, and it continued until I almost felt that I wouldn’t write anything ever again.

    After a few weeks I realised that I missed the contact with the world via my blog; I missed the friends I have made that I have never seen, and most of all I realised that although I may never ever get my short stories or a novel published, I love writing.
    I wrote a post about how I was feeling and why, and a few very supportive friends got in touch to tell me it was OK, they all felt like that a times too and I should just get on and write! So I did.

    I’m delighted that you have too.

    Love, Dee

    • Oh Dee,

      Thanks for sharing your story with me. Don’t you see, you ARE published! Here in the wonderful world of Word Press you are famous. We ALL are that share our words. We are our own writer’s colony.

      I thought for sure I was done also. That I couldn’t write another word. Then I started reading a book by John Green. As I read it, I realized I could do this. I could write a book. I don’t have to have a stellar vocabulary. And I most certainly don’t have to be a best-selling author. What need to do is be true to myself. And my story. We are painters Dee. We paint pictures for the world to see. Even if it’s only for our followers.

      We need to keep writing. Because what we say is important. Even if only to ourselves. Take care my sweet Dee. Keep writing.

      Love, Renee

  3. Pingback: Lucy, You Got Some ‘Splaining to Do | Rendezvous With Renee

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s