Waiting

The bus stop wasn’t on my map, but the bus slowed anyway, its brakes sighing like it was relieved to stop.

The sign only said LOCAL, with no route number underneath.

End of the line.

Already?

For you.

I stepped off into a narrow platform lit by a single overhead light.

The bus pulled away immediately, disappearing around a bend that hadn’t been there when we arrived.

There was a bench, a schedule board, and nothing else. No street. No buildings. Just the road on one side and open dark on the other.

The schedule listed times, but no destinations. Every line ended with the same word.

Waiting.

A woman sat at the far end of the bench, her hands folded in her lap. She was dressed like she’d planned to go somewhere important.

Do you know when the next bus comes?

Soon.

Soon like minutes?

Soon like before you stop asking.

I checked my phone. No signal. The time kept changing, then settling back on the same minute.

How long have you been waiting?

I sat down when it was still light.

It was very dark now.

The overhead light flickered once, then steadied. The road beside us remained empty, too clean to be unused.

NOAH Did you get off the same bus?

No.

Then how did you get here?

I waited somewhere else first.

That didn’t help.

Headlights appeared in the distance. A bus approached slowly, identical to the last one, slowing as it reached the platform.

I stood up.

Is this the one?

If you’re done waiting.

The doors opened. The driver looked at me without recognition or interest.

Where does it go?

DRIVER On.

I hesitated, then stepped back onto the platform.

I think I’ll wait for the next one.

That’s what this one is.

The doors closed. The bus pulled away, the headlights fading until the road was empty again.

The schedule board updated quietly.

My name appeared beneath the list.

Waiting.