THE DRIVER

 

He had a nightmare. That’s all he had anymore, and he had grown tired having them. He wanted some respite, some quiet relief. What haunted him?…possessed him? What drove him to the point of desperation and found him crying, curled fetal in the night. He can’t accurately recall, but the sheets, his bed, the nightstand, the room … all were in disarray, even though the evening before he took such pains to make it all just ‘so’. But always in the morning he’d find that sometime in the night a beast had entered his tiny flat, and destroyed the fabric of his reality.

His mornings came too soon, he wasn’t ready for them, but there was no masking the harsh light that invaded his room. It was dawning and you had to go on. You just can’t stop…can’t stop the Workings. The Workings don’t depend on you, they neglect you. And should you dally, they crush you. That’s how “it Works”.

So he bundled up, bolted down a breakfast of whatever was available…cold can of beans, if that’s all that’s in the cupboard…and went about his business. 

City bus. Number Nine. The Uptown, in the morning, and Downtown, late at night. He preferred the double shifts because they kept him busy, and when he wasn’t busy he found he had too much time on his hands, and he would wash them compulsively.

On the route, no one paid him particular attention. Oh, there were always three or four passengers who’d say, “Have a nice day…”, but that echoed hollow, on a quick entrance, or exit, from the bus. 

Most riders were too preoccupied to pay him much attention, and besides, he had a schedule to keep and they didn't pay him enough to "make with the chitchat". The day will come, and soon, he speculated, when the bus would drive itself in automated syncopation. There would be no need for driving skills, they’d be a thing of the past. 
Then came ‘the Rider’. The Rider didn’t care where the bus was bound, if the driver was running late, or even if it broke down. The rider would sit, fourth row back, opposite, window seat, and wait her turn. Day in, day out, she became his constant companion.

“We’re stopping now. I need a break.”

“That’s okay. I could use one myself,” she’d respond.

He wondered if the cart she dragged behind, contained all of her worldly possessions. Was she homeless, or just aimless? Surely, she could take another bus, and another driver, but she honed in on him and trusted he would deliver her, to where, he had no idea.

Two lost souls, with nowhere else left to go. Did the dreams  start with her? When did the nightmares come? Was she the witch that cast the spell, or an illusion he created, to fend off his loneliness? 
Either way, she was bound to take his bus.

V