Bus Stop: a Tale

She was sitting on a cold stone bench, an open book on her lap. On one side of the page was the drawing of a dragon, its jaw open in a silent scream. On the other side a little pixie was grinning impishly, her fairy wings bigger than the rest of her. Her pencil moved slowly, darkening the wings of the little pixie, starting from the edges. Rebecca lifted her head as the blue STM bus came to an abrupt stop, its wheels screaming against the hot asphalt. The door opened with a bang and a man stumbled down falling first face on the cement of the sidewalk, his toes sticking out toward the street. Rebecca heard a few snickers nearby, and she shook her head. She saw the man get up slowly dusting off his pants. His cheeks were red and he limped away, shoulders slumped.
The following afternoon, Rebecca was sitting on the same bench, her drawing book opened again on her knees. Her lunch bag lay open beside her, a water bottle in easy reach. She was scribbling, outlining the square skeleton of a bus. She was idling her lunch hour break away, savouring the fresh crisp air of early fall, when she heard the rubbing of tires against asphalt.
‘‘GET OFF MY BLOODY BUS OR I’LL CALL THE POLICE!’’
The doors had opened and out came the man of the day before, tripping over his own feet and like before, landing face first on his face. Again some snickers nearby as the bus sped away. Rebecca cast a look around and spotted two girls smiling at each other knowingly. She packed her book back into her purse and went to the man, helping him up. He looked up at her, his cheek a flaming red.
‘‘Some of these bus drivers shouldn’t be working with the public.’’
He didn’t say anything. He just turned around and fled as fast as he could.
‘‘What you do to him Becca? Didn’t think you were that scary.’’ One of her co-workers called out to her.
‘‘Didn’t think so either Fred.’’ She replied, confused, she had only wanted to help him.
The third day, she was sitting again on her stone bench, she had been there for more than hour and still she waited. She was waiting for the bus. She had gotten up that morning with a strange feeling. So she sat and waited.
The bus did not come, but the man did. He walked into the park with a determined stride, almost arrogant. It was not the same man as the day before. Physically he looked exactly the same but something had changed. Her pencil moved, tracing lines after lines as he walked around the park.
Half an hour later, Fred picked up Rebecca’s sketch book. Partly covered in blood was a quick sketch of a man with eyes ablaze and a dark, shiny gun in his hand. All around him were the faces of woman with half smiles on their lips.