Bad Trip (Cornelia Kerstiëns)
(Witches Cauldron) |
(Cornelia Kerstiëns)
The sun was hot. I felt my shirt sticking to my back and sweat glued my pants to my legs. The air was foul and hazy, cars were beeping but hardly moving and on the far end of the lane, a bus came around the corner. After several minutes I could read the number of the bus; it was not the bus I waited for. Another bus appeared, again not the right one. Then nothing.
The non-stop stream of cars crept continuously over the asphalt. Ten minutes after the second bus had passed the stop, I decided that I would wait still for fifteen minutes and then... I considered other possibilities, the taxi to the other side of town would cost a fortune in this enormous traffic-jam; walking would take at least an hour. So then... I would wait longer.
Finally a bus turned slowly around the corner. It was stuck in the turn for a while, and then it slowly continued, followed by another one, and then another! My heart leaped when seeing the three busses in a row! I was saved. Surely, one of the three busses had my lucky number. I mumbled encouragements to the busses to come closer at a higher speed. I looked severely at the crowd of cars blocking the way, hoping for the sea of metal to split open, as had done the Red Sea for Moses. It did not work, but slowly the number became visible and legible. That the number was not the one I had been hoping for only slightly discouraged me. For a moment I though about walking down to the busses to find out the number of the other two, but the risk of the Lord granting my prayers to speed up the traffic and me consequently missing the bus was to great. Besides, I simply knew one of these busses was going to take me home.
The first bus arrived at the stop. I had moved already further towards the second bus to finally discover the number. My heart jumped: it seemed a bit overloaded, but it definitely was the number I was waiting for! I walked towards the doors and knocked. Being blocked the bus could open it's doors now as well, I thought. The driver failed to notice me. When the traffic light went green, the first bus left with a fresh load of cargo. My bus (don't we all get possessive when we find what we were looking for) moved forward swiftly and followed bus number one, without stopping! I gasped for air. The bus simply hadn't stopped
Meanwhile the third bus had passed me and taken its position. It took me while to realize that it had the same number. I pulled myself together and had to act quickly now. I started to move passed the bus to the front door where one is supposed to enter. Unfortunately, halfway, the bus opened its doors and spent its litter: dozens of people poured out of the vehicle, blocking my way to the legal entrance. I fought in despair but the force of the mass was too overwhelming; slowly I was pushed away form my goal. When the density of people diminished, I managed to gain terrain. I headed for the closest door; I would never make it to the front door. If legal entrance in public transport were inhibited, than illegal it would be.
The bus appeared to be well equipped against illegalism. Only my hand had entered when alarm bells must have gone off and the door snapped closed, gripping my wrist. Panic arose while the bus started moving. I pulled with all my force to get my hand back, now walking along with the bus, bumping into people on the pavement and stumbling over a child whose mother angrily started to wail. After twenty meters my hand slipped from between the rubber shutters.
I examined whether nothing was missing. Red, bruised, scratched with a firm imprint of my wristwatch, but I still counted five fingers. The shock of the past event kept me busy for at least five minutes, trembling all over. Then I started to wonder. Had nobody seen what happened? Why did nobody comfort me? Ask me whether I was all right? Fear started to make place for anger. I had nearly broken my arm, it could have been ripped of and all these people acted as if nothing had happened! This kept me busy for at least another five minutes, because when I came to my senses I saw my bus leaving the bus stop, and the bus is scheduled every ten minutes.
A bit disappointed about missing the third bus I settled to wait again. When the next bus appeared, I walked in anticipation towards the place where the monster is supposed to open its mouth. I was number one in line; this one would not leave without me.
I cannot express my feelings about what happened next: the bus stopped some ten meters before its official stop, exchanged its passengers and started to leave. Without me! This was intolerable. In agony I stepped on the street in front of the bus to stop it. This bus would not leave without me. The chauffeur started to claxon loudly and looked very angry. I gestured to myself, to the door and also looked very angry. Finally -I must have stood there for at least twenty seconds before the driver understood what I wanted, the chorus of claxons dramatically in crescendo- the door of the bus opened. I walked towards the door to meet, quite unexpectedly, the driver of the bus, in person, in the doorway.
Then things happened quickly: I asked him politely to let me pass to enter his bus, a youngster next to the door said something about my mother that I will not repeat and the driver neatly planted his fist in my left eye. I fell backwards on the floor and by the time I got up, my head was aching more than my hand, a circle of people moved hastily backwards and acted as if they had not seen what had happened and the bus was standing in the traffic jam thirty meters further. I decided this bus stop was doomed. I had to find another place that was more me-friendly.
A bit dizzy I walked along the traffic jam towards the next bus stop. Through an open window I heard the same insults I had endured not very long ago. I was the last bus I had missed. I prayed it would reach and leave the next bus stop before I did. So it did and so did another bus. At the new bus stop, I studied my hand again. Red and swollen, now with thin lines of tiny red blood drops where the skin was scratched. The watches imprint was still visible, and the watch itself told me through the broken glass that I had in vain tried to get on a bus for over an hour. My left eye was nearly closed now and I felt it with my hands. It hurt a lot. When I looked up I saw a bus stopping and opening its doors, just in front of me.
(Witches Cauldron) |