short story

“I'm not obsessed, not obsessed at all, at least I don’t feel obsessed. Obsession is… well it’s obsessing isn’t it. It’s not being able to stop talking about the subject, it’s going on and on in an obsessive kind of way. No I'm not obsessed. I mean if I was obsessed I’d be able to tell, wouldn’t I?”
The old women just looks at me blankly.
“I mean” I go on “I don’t feel obsessive about her and well. It’s not like she is the only thing I think about, not day in and day out. I mean ok yes I dream about her but well… she’s very… em… dreamable.”
Silence hangs in the air. Not normal silence but silence with a capital S and lots of…………….
After about 20 seconds of uncomforted absence of sound I offer up my hand
“I'm John by the way, John Lee” I'm currently sat at a bus stop with the pouring rain, waiting for a bus. The bus is inevitably late and so after offering up a few ‘tut, there always late’ and ‘we’ll get 2 in one go, you mark my words’ I felt obliged to engage in more conversation. I don’t know why people say these sort of things. It almost seems as if the combined efforts of people complaining might somehow speed up appalling public transport services.
The reason I am talking about my ex is because I have just split up with her (biggest mistake of my life) and now I feel I need to talk about it to as many people and as often as possible. I am in fact very very obsessed.
The old women look at my hand, not as if it was going to bite. No, more as if it is going to kill her, her children, her grand children, her friends and her pet tortuous, if she has one. I’ve never understood why old people seem to enjoy getting a pet that will inevitably live on long after they have gone. I’d be afraid it was mocking me.
Slowly, but surly, she takes my hand and shakes it half heartedly, ready to pull out at a moments notice. Her skin is wrinkly and I remember how much I hate shaking old people’s hands. I feel queasy.
“So” I say, slyly wiping my hand to remove the ‘old’ “what do you think I should do?”
There is more silence, it seem to be the proffered method of communication in this ‘conversation’.
“I do love her” I say just to end the void. “She just drove me insane. I would make arrangements and she would never turn up. I would always have to see her, she would never come to mine. I would have given her everything, everything in the world. I would have died for her.”
Looking into the distance my eyes glaze over
“I don’t really know why I ended it”
The old women glares at me.
“I’ve always reacted with my heart, not with my head that is the problem. I react too quickly to situations, damn text messages. They have ruined this relationship. That’s it, text messages. Them, I did nothing wrong really. Ok so maybe that’s not true. I don’t know. I feel, very sad. Very, very sad.” I look at her. There is no response.
Then the bus turns around the corner and pulls up. I let the old women climb on and I follow. Sitting down as far away from her as possible I am grateful that the dreadful conversation is now over. I pull out my book and glare at the pages blankly. My mind is still running through all the what ifs and whys. Why did it turn out like this? All the questions and so few answers. I’d kill to get her back. I love her so much. Am I really not the one? Will I ever meet her again? I can’t imagine life with out anyone else. The bus pulls up four stops later. The old women passes by, as she does she stops and gives me a knowing look. Then rather unexpectedly she hands me a note. Watching her step off the bus I look at the note. There are a few words, not much, but they affect me greatly. Written on the paper is

“Think, don’t react. Trust in God and you will always find the path. You will meet again, now is right people, wrong time. Grow, become the right person. Your time will be in God’s house.”

Typical, useless religious babble. I look read it twice and place it in my pocket, not being overly careful to make sure it’s not damaged. As the bus pulls out I turn to wave goodbye to the old lady but she is not there. She must have gone already. Moved quickly for someone who seemed to have a bad hip unless that’s part of the benefits scam she’s probably pulling. I pull the note out again. Looking at it I turn it over, I turn it over again. It’s blank. Funny that I could have sworn it said something about God.