R Rides the Bus
by
Joann Evan
R’s beloved green Ford Escort is dead.
She sits in Crowder’s Grocery’s parking lot cranking the ignition to no avail and calls the
auto club, hoping it just needs a new battery.
A scruffy kid in a faded blue shirt bearing a name patch that reads “Peyton” arrives in a tow truck
and tries to jump start the car.
“I have a new battery in the truck,” Peyton says. “I can install it for you for $199.99.”
The Lovelorn Group at Mindset had recently disbanded, so R is a bit short on cash. That
money is meant for Bink’s chicken noodle soup, Crystal Light, and vodka, among other necessities.
“I guess so,” R says reluctantly.
Peyton installs the new battery while R fidgets in the lot and rummages through her Hello
Kitty tote bag, looking for her auto club card. Peyton finishes and R tries to start the car.
Nothing.
“I can tow it to the nearest garage for you,” Peyton says in earnest.
The garage is closed for the evening, so R takes an Uber home, toting her groceries that
she paid for with her MasterCard. The next day, the garage offers to repair the car for nearly as
much money as it’s worth, so she accepts it as a loss. It will be public transportation until she can
scrape up some funds.
On Thursday morning, R is on her way to a job interview. It’s her first time riding the bus
from Rottenton to Pleasantville, and things are off to a rocky start as she sees the bus approach
the corner from about twenty-five yards away. R sprints toward the bus and boards it as it is
about to pull away from the stop. Out of breath, she pulls a few dollars from her purple wallet.
“Oh,” the fat, elderly bus driver says in a gruff voice, “we don’t take cash here,
sweetheart. You have to have a bus pass.”
“Where can I get one?” R asks, bewildered and irritated.
“You can get one at the intermodal center in Pleasantville.”
“How am I supposed to get to Pleasantville if you won’t let me on the bus?”
“Not my problem, sweetheart.”
“But I have a job interview today,” R hyperventilates, partially from running and partially
from an oncoming panic attack. She has sent out over thirty resumes and this is her first in-
person interview.
“Okay. Just because those clunky shoes of yours remind me of my granddaughter, I’ll let
you go this time. Make sure you get that pass when you get to the intermodal, because another
driver might not be so accommodating.”
R looks down at her patent leather t-straps with the chunky heels and gives the bus driver
a grateful smile. She walks down the aisle, looking for an empty seat.
There is only one, and it is next to a sallow-skinned man with a scruffy beard, sporting a
Led Zeppelin t-shirt.
“Hi,” R says, not realizing that you’re not supposed to talk to your seatmate.
The man looks a bit surprised, then whispers, “Do you have any crack?” He smiles,
showing a few missing teeth. “Can you help a brother out?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t have any crack.”
“I’ll suck on your titties if you give me a couple dollars.”
“Excuse me?”
The man cackles and lifts up R’s blouse.
“Get away, creep!”
Everyone on the bus is either reading or staring out the window. R has a knife in her tote
bag, but no chance to reach for it. The man dives head first under R’s untucked blouse. She
screams, but no one does anything, not even the bus driver. R squirms and reaches for the buzzer
near the window. Maybe she can get off the bus and walk the rest of the way. But crazy Zepp
will probably follow her. Still, no one on the bus looks up.
The driver opens the door while R struggles in her seat. Someone boards the bus. It is
Leonard, R’s former co-worker, the same Leonard who was physically removed from the shop at
Widget Wonders and who broke into her crappy apartment to steal her underwear in a fit of
misguided romance.
Leonard lumbers down the aisle over to R’s seat and bellows, “Unhand her!”
Zepp pulls his head out from under R’s blouse.
“Who says?” Zepp cackles again.
“Look, I got no job, no woman, and nothing to lose, so I might as well kill you,” Leonard
says, shaking. He pulls a gun from his trousers. Everyone on the bus is still either reading or
staring out the window.
Zepp says, “Whoa, take it easy, man,” and puts his hands up. “She ain’t worth dying for.”
R’s eyes well up.
“What did you say?” Leonard growls.
“I said, this bitch ain’t worth dying for.”
Leonard pulls the trigger, shooting out the bus window. One person looks up from a
tattered paperback copy of The Hotel New Hampshire and immediately resumes reading.
Zepp hoots. “Too bad you’re not a better shot, Annie Oakley.”
Leonard seethes, his face bright red. He aims the gun between Zepp’s eyes.
R sobs, “Stop. Just stop. I just want to go to Pleasantville. That’s all.”
A preschool-aged boy utters, “Mommy, what’s happening?” matter-of-factly. His mother
puts her finger to her lips.
The bus reaches the Pleasantville intermodal station and everyone files out in an orderly
fashion, including Leonard, Zepp, and R. It seems as though the whole thing had been staged,
like an episode of the TV show “What Would You Do?” except the host, John Quinones, never
came to the rescue. Leonard has tucked his gun back into his pants, and Zepp is already
harassing some standers-by.
On the way to her interview, R stops by the intermodal counter to pick up her bus pass.
