He boarded the bus almost out of breath. Exhausted from the impromptu 100m dash he had just sprinted. The bus driver was a young man but marked with the impatience seen with so many of the older bus drivers. The driver stretched his long, lanky, autumn branch-like fingers to get the bus ticket. A simple nod was the driver’s greeting and he gave the ticket back. His response was a nod too. Looking straight ahead, avoiding the eye contact of prying old teachers, he headed for his regular seat.
As usual, he placed his bus ticket in the side compartment of his bag. After placing his ticket away and securing the zipper, he would check the other four compartments of his bag. He hated losing things and would triple check and sometimes quadruple check that all the zippers of his bag were secured tight. At this time, the bus would arrive at its next stop to pick up the other old sniveling teachers. He paid them no mind. He will wait until they have seated so that he can turn the volume on his phone up. Those awkward moments where old people fail to see the headsets and ask him questions about life always got to him. To avoid these moments, he would wait to hear if any of them wanted to strike a conversation. Once they have all settled down, he would then turn the volume up.
The rumble of bus always was a sign that the new day has begun. The bus, gingerly rides out his calm neighborhood and makes a right into the highway. But before entering the highway, the bus makes its last stop. Men who come from the evening shift climb on. They always look tired and they always smell of midnight caps. He wonders whether do these men arrive at work already above the clouds or do they keep something in their overloaded bags to keep them awake the whole night. As routine has it, after these three men board on, a woman hops on the bus as well. She is one of those who used to be beautiful. The wrinkles on her face marking her fading beauty. Failing to see these wrinkles, she still carries herself as if men around her still adorn the steps she takes. She always, winter or summer, holds her phone loosely in her left hand. Her right hand carries a LW (a counterfeit for Louis Vuitton) handbag with the full intention for the world to see. One day when the bus was full, she sat next him. He nearly puked. The fragrance she had on was a cheap concoction of chemicals that have the potency to be a pesticide. She refused to allow age to get to her. Unfortunately, for her, time waits for no man- or woman.
The last person who boards the bus in his hometown is a skinny looking woman. At least she knew her place. She looked frail and sick. Her skin attached to her bones like the skin attached to a chicken’s feet. She had no flavour to her character and yet the man seated behind her could not get his eyes off her.
The two women she always sat next to were sisters. He sat at the third last row of the 18-row seater bus. This side has two seats and he usually sits alone as his bag will occupy the seat besides him. The three women sat on the second row on the left, which had three seats, each row. The two sisters were strange. The one sister would talk endlessly while the other would listen. Their conversation he could never hear nor did he ever want to hear. He found it rather special how these two sisters were clearly approaching the twilight of their years and yet they looked like little girls who eagerly waited to get home to their mother. They were unique in their own special way.
The ride to school was a smooth ride. His college was in the next town, about 50kms from his hometown. The bus would rumble and overtake anything moving like a snail. No bus driver had the patience for slow moving traffic. Whether it was a small car, a truck or an armoured vehicle transporting money, the bus driver would readily overtake the vehicle. Thus, as expected, the bus arrived eight minutes earlier to its stop near school. This stop was usually where the longest wait would occur. A normal wait was one normal song’s length. A long wait was one Fela Kuti full song’s length. Today, it was two Fela Kuti songs.
He watched the schoolchildren board the bus. One by one, excited about the day ahead. Obviously, the bullies would make their way to the back of the bus. The cool girls follow suit. They are loud and always give him a naughty seductive look. How they hungered to court a college boy. They too he paid no mind and knew him avoiding eye contact; to these young girls they gained confidence that their charm might be working. After the girls were the average students. The funny thing about average students is that they all have one ringleader. This ringleader clearly is the protector who keeps the rest of the gang safe at school. The ringleader fights off bullies and through the ringleader, they have some substantial social standing. There are about five groups of such cliques that board the bus every morning.
After the schoolchildren, make their way, the working class boards on. They usually do not have the same energy. They are usually marked with signs of fatigue and worry. They sit on any available seat and sit usually with slugged shoulders. It is tough being an adult having to feed yourself.
The bus was ready to rumble away and suddenly a loud shouting stopped it. A girl in uniform came running as fast as she could to board the bus. He eyes was fixated on her. Her skin was smooth and looked like deep chocolate, caramel toffee. A small beauty spot below her eye certified her gorgeousness. She kept opening her mouth, inhaling the air she had lost running. She opened her mouth only slightly to allow just enough air to enter. Her wide and large eyes looking for an open seat where she‘d rest until her stop. Her lips made full by Vaseline. He marvelled at how this young girl in uniform has him awestruck. She kept coming closer to him, looking for a seat. The butterflies in him on a rampage. Nervously, he looked out the window. She sat in the row in front of him. Her natural scent rose from the heat of sweat caused by her running. Her scent swiftly swirled into his nostrils. His knees weakened.
The beauty of this young girl took him aback. He did not understand how he, at age 28, was infatuated by such a young girl who looked like she is only entering puberty. Indeed, time waits for no man or woman because she was beautiful enough to arouse the masculine forces in him. This young girl struck him like a lightning bolt. He was paralysed so much so by this young girl’s beauty, he missed his bus stop on campus.