Travel Stories Travel Tales

The Girl In The Bus

My eyes caught hers as we stood in line behind the counter with our money in our hands and the bus tickets in their hands. We were furious, yes. Why would we be in the park waiting for so long for a journey from the East to the far West with no one there to sell tickets. But knowing Peace Mass Transit and knowing that sometimes, they act as though their customers don’t really matter, we’d patiently stood in line, waiting for whenever whoever sold the tickets decided it was time for him or her to take their bath and come to work.

I stood in front of the line with my hands clutching tight to the bars of the counter with my money in my hands as though I was a prisoner lobbying for my release when I decided to turn back and look at the line behind me. All I had seen initially were men and I desired to know if there were women joining us on this long trip, and that was when my eyes caught hers.

It was dark. Say 5.50am.

But come the time when we were almost set to move, and the Manifest was filled save for two bank lines, and we sought for whose names were yet to be written that I really saw her.

She was as fair as the colour of my skin – chocolate with sprinkles of vanilla. Her short hair curved the layout of head ending just at the tip of her neck. Her lips were small but full. Nose, small, cute. Eyes, dark-brown, clear, beautiful. She wore a teal-coloured shirt that covered a body so full they couldn’t be hidden while her tight black trousers revealed her luscious curves – the type Flavour sang about. She walked as though she had the entire world under her feet. Right behind her was an aged woman in her seventies. She wrote her name and the name of the woman on the Manifest, and as she was about to take her seat, I silently hoped her seat number was next to mine. It wasn’t.

The journey began and I did what love doing on road trips, write and think, though a good part of the thinking was of her. On getting to Ore, the driver stopped so we could all come down for lunch or a stretch. I bought lunch and sat down to eat while having a casual conversation with another passenger when she sat on the table across mine. So I excused myself, and went towards her.

“Hi, I’m Chukwuka.”

“I’m Uche.”

Usually, after this part of the introduction, things can get really awkward. So I explained that I’m feeling a bit awkward so she should forgive me in advance for asking questions that might be a bit off.

She smiled. “I saw you yesterday.”

I was a bit taken aback. “Me?”

“Yes. You don’t remember?”

I didn’t.

“I saw you at the tailors.”

“Was that you!??” I exclaimed. Yesterday, I had gone to mend a cloth when I saw this pretty girl sitting there. She was on a call for most parts of the time I spent there and she let me mend my cloth before hers. I was grateful for that.

“Yes, it was. I never forget a face.”

Her tone was gentle, sweet. Her smile was gorgeous. She worked as a financial analyst with a financial company on the island and she was traveling with her grandmother.

I went back into the bus, wrote this story and gave her to read. Then I asked for her number.

I love road trips. Beautiful things happen there. And for some beautiful things, they also have have beautiful endings.

PS: She loved it, dropped her number and smiled.

Chukwuka Chukwumerije
Chukwuka is Poet, Writer and Storyteller who loves to travel. He's the Publisher of Yolar Magazine and the CEO of Primedux Ltd. He lives a life of passion and adventure and he teaches others how to do the same.
http://thechukwuka.com

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