Discomfort

There is a man who appears serene and controlled, contained and calm. He is sitting next to a beautiful girl, made up in a plain, serene way.

An older woman, friendly and myopic, is launching herself down the aisle, toward a seat for the differently-abled and elderly. A seat of honor. The seat that is rightfully hers.

She settles herself gently in the shallow plastic seat, somewhat haphazardly wheeling a suitcase into the narrow space directly in front of her.

This does not please the young and serene man, who shifts uncomfortably and mildly in his seat. The eager and beautiful young woman tries to shift too, adjusting their backpacks just beside their feet. She is looking up at him, murmuring soft words of encouragement, as his brow furrows. He shifts uncomfortably once more and abruptly stands, bending and straightening his sweatpant-clad, thin legs. Wrapping his hiking backpack around his slender frame, he adjusts the useless straps, struggling to do so. He has a large jagged knife, the kind that skins rabbits, or cuts useless bits of rope, strapped to the backpack. It seems out of place for a Tuesday morning.

His uselessness and despair in these tight quarters permeates the small and wedged area, as the kind and myopic woman peers through her thick glasses.

More soft murmuring now from both women, as the uncomfortable man shifts uncomfortably, leaning on the yellow post with one arm. He yanks at the bus stop pull as the young and beautiful woman looks up once more, placing a familiar hand on his hip, murmuring softly.

He disembarks.

The older, friendly woman questions the younger, both murmuring comfort to each other as we watch the uncomfortable man limp away from the bus stop.