Rainy Tuesday

It rained on a Tuesday which meant the public buses sat unusually low with the weight of students who usually swore by walking. The isles puddled and anyone who didn’t hold onto the bus’s poles risked hydroplaning. The seats brushed against more jeans and sweatpants than ever that week, and the windows were clamped tight. Jackets served as padded buffers, and sneakers no matter the brand, unless rubber or leather, were muted a darker tone. Each jacket served as incubators, and if you looked closely you could almost see a thin aura of smoke vignetting each slumped body.

Inside, the air hovered like two lovers in the backseat of a confined car who finally shared a night. It was as tight and thick as the seconds before they sucked in their final breath in harmony. But here, in the Green Line Bus, the fully clothed students shifted uncomfortably and anxiously tapped their feet faster as they approached their stop. By the third stop, it stopped raining and the clouds parted for the attention deprived sun. Yellow and orange hues pierced through the head-level part of the bus’s window that was wiped dry by the back of unfortunate heads and haloed three unknowing nursing students. By the fifth stop the scene was over, and so was the story of the public bus on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.