I Know You
I was ready to go home. My stubborn mother refused to pay for taxis, we had just walked nearly five miles to the Peter Pan Bus station all the way from central New York, and somehow still managed to get here an hour early. The station smelt even worse than the typically rotten city smell: wet socks, feces, zoo, body odor, taco beef, and gasoline. The heat made everything smell and feel muggy; each breath was like boiling acid shooting up my nostrils. I exchanged a horrid look with my sister, who was making the same revolting face as I was. We both knew this next hour was going to be dreadful.
The station was packed. There were two open seats against the back wall. My sister sat down next to a young, pretty woman with a small baby cradled in her arms, leaving me to sit next to the overweight man spilling onto my seat. I tried my best to scoot as close to her as I could, leaving space between him and me. When I glanced over at him, I couldn’t see his face. The man was glued to his computer screen. I’ve always hated sitting next to strangers; being this close to some random person makes my skin crawl. Don’t get me wrong, the man next to me seemed like a normal guy, he just had zero emotion. I hate not being able to read people. What if he was some creep? What was he thinking about? A certain uneasiness pulsed through my body. Who was this guy? I know it’s not polite to stare at people, but he wouldn’t know, he’s entranced on his computer screen. I began violating him with my eyes, scanning every detail about him that I could find. He was wearing loose navy blue jeans, a withered flannel button up, and at the top of his bald head sat a brown fedora hat. He had a long black beard, making up for the missing hair on his head and those ugly small circle glasses. He seemed harmless, yet peculiar.
The computer was interesting to me, what was he looking at? I prayed it wasn’t anything bad. I decided not to look for my own sake. He kept scrolling through something. Eventually, I found myself leaning far back in my seat and peeking over at his computer. The stranger was texting with a woman named Andrea.
Please honey, let me come home. I’m sorry. Read his blue text messages.
No David, I can’t keep doing this. Go stay with your sister. Texted the opposing grey messenger.
What about the kids? Will I get to see them again? I snapped my head away from their texts. I felt like I just intruded on something important, something very private. Guilt flooded through me. I tried to forget about everything I had just learned about this stranger sitting next to me, but I couldn’t get it off my mind. What could he have done? He probably deserved it, either way I still felt commiseration for him. I turned my head back and saw his desperate eyes longing for more texts, more answers.
My thoughts began to bottle up, and I felt like I was going to erupt and tell my sister everything I had just witnessed. The sound of harsh typing grabbed my attention, pulling me away from her. I once again leaned back in my seat and watched as they bantered back and forth.
No you’re not going anywhere near my kids after what you did! I don’t want to hear anymore from you David, stop texting me. The assumed upset wife replied. My eyes widened, whatever he did must have been despicable. The stranger pondered his keyboard, seemingly looking for the right words to say.
Please don’t do this, you’re all I have. I’m sorry. I won’t do it ever again. He begged. I think both of our hearts dropped when the message turned green and was unable to deliver; she had blocked him. I watched as he scrambled to send a mass amount of messages, hoping one will send. They all turned green.
My sister tapped my leg, bringing me back to my own life. It was time to board the bus. I made one last look at the man before grabbing my backpack. His hands covered his face, hiding all underlying emotion. I felt sorry for him and his family. I never knew I could feel so much sympathy for someone I had never talked to. As I stared out the foggy bus window, I thought about how you can never truly tell what someone else is going through.
