Tales From A Bus by jwilson136 (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

none measured to that day and that particular moment. My legs wanted me to sit but I knew that if I sat down there I would never get up. That I’d be left sitting on the bus for a very long time, as my clothes got old and dated and my eyes got sadder. I wanted to sit but my heart wouldn’t allow it.
My legs buckled and for one moment I was sure that I was going to fall but I pulled hard on the hand rail and held myself up. And then I made my way down the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me.
I don’t really remember getting off the bus. All I remember was standing there getting sick on the side of the but road happy to be off the bus. I was laughing as the vomit speud from my mouth. I was laughing because my head was clearing and I was off the bus and then I was laughing just because I was happy.
I have never told anyone about that bus ride before now. I spent a long time debating with myself about whether I should contact any of families of those on the bus. I did some research you see and from looking at pictures I could name eight of them. With a bit more research I figure I could get the names of at least one or two more. But who’d believe me ? What would be the point ? People would only think that I’d gone off the deep end so up until now I’ve kept quiet. And that’s it. That’s all there is to tell. I’ve never seen that bus or any of the people on it again. The headaches have almost totally gone and most times I feel good with myself and get a full nights sleep. I say most nights because some times I wake up in the dead of night. Bathed in sweat with horrible thoughts running around my mind. And on these nights it takes me a long while to get back to sleep. So I lie awake on my bed, with Pat asleep in innocence beside me and I think. I think about young Philip Keanes and Anne Murphy and Sean O’Reilly and I wonder about when the bus is now, and who’ll be next to get on it. I think of the mothers of the disappeared and wondered if they lie awake too......”


TALES FROM A BUS
TALE IV
THE HEALER


When he finished his story there was silence on the bus. Even the bus itself seemed quieter as the engine noise dropped well into the background. He sat back in the seat and looked around at us all with a odd look on his face. He seemed pleased with the reactions his story had produced yet at the same time he looked saddened and perhaps even a bit frightened. I think that we all knew at that point that the stories were changing, getting stronger as we moved along. Myself, I felt I was just being drawn by some strong, invisible force. Drawn onto the bus, drawn into telling my story and drawn towards somewhere that I was not so sure I wanted to go to. I guess that we all had that same odd look on our face.
The old man lit up another cigarette. If there’s one thing that pissed me off it’s a chain smoker and the he was one of those. The lady spoke up “Mind if I take one of those on you?” she asked. He didn’t answer her but just tipped the pack towards her. She took one and when he didn’t offer her a light took a packet of matches from her bag and lit up. I noticed that her hand was shaking. She had changed a lot since I had first noticed her on the bus. Most of the confidence seemed to have vanished from her, and she looked younger now than before, its funny how confidence can change the very way you look.
I felt like a smoke now big time. I’d be kinda fighting with the idea of giving them up for a long time and had recently stopped buying pack of twenties, I still however bought packs of ten on the odd occasion. Buying smaller packets made me feel as if I was at least moving in the right direction, but the thing was overall I still smoked the same amount each day. Regardless of whether it was one pack of twenty or two packs of ten I’d still have nine cigarettes left (seven if it had been a bad day) at bed time each night. Story of my life really, spend too much time thinking about something and then when I do get around to it only do it part time with little or no effort. Still I found a battered packet of ten with a fair few left in it in my packet and drew one out. I looked across at the driver in his rear view mirror to see if he minded me lighting up. I saw that he had one in his mouth and was busy puffing away on it while looking at the dark road ahead. Apparently the NO SMOKING sign lit up above his head held as little sway with him as it did for any of the few passengers on the bus.
I don’t really know why but I was really looking forward to telling my story. It had happened so long ago but I had never told anybody about it. I was waiting my time to really get the others attention so I bided my time and let the silence and the cigarette smoke take centre stage for a few moments. When the silence almost reached unbearable level I spoke. I blew out the last of my smoke and I must say the effect was quite dramatic. Without doubt I had their undivided attention.

“The exact year this all happened I’m not so sure about. I suppose I could figure it out without too much trouble, like it was my first summer after college which was four years after I finished secondary which was five years after primary etc. etc. etc. but I don’t really want to find out how long ago it was, I know I’ll only get depressed.
I had recently finished college and it was during the summer that followed that I got my first year job. The job itself was in a bank and before you ask if it was a boring job or not the answer is ‘yes’, it was an exceptionally boring job. In fact the only thing that distinguished it from hundreds of others of its kind is the fact that it was so boring. I suppose I should think myself lucky in a way really, I knew plenty of others who had jobs that were too dull to be boring if you get my meaning.
The bank I worked for was located in the city centre and every morning I’d get up at the same time, dress in a carbon copy of the suit that I wore the day previous and eat the same breakfast. Each day in work was pretty much the same as the last and the problems I had on my desk each morning were pretty much the same as the ones I’d cleared the evening before. My life at the time as you may have guessed was a bit monotonous.
Since the leaving cert things had always promised a lot but delivered little. Collage, girl friends and a career had all been one anti-climax after another and to be frank if I’d taken the time to really think about it I might well have killed myself. Strange really that, it’s only talking to you all now that I realise just how much of a rut my life was in.
I got one of these X buses in and out of the city everyday, you know; point to point non-stop. I didn’t have a car at the time but for some reason I would like to think that even if I had one I would never have driven in through all the rush hour traffic in the morning only to do it all in the evening. Dublin had then, as it has now, an awful problem with traffic. The morning and evening time was pure hell, godshites, morans and blind bastards seemed plentiful on the roads each and every day. So the result of all this was that I got bus in every morning and the bus home every evening. Those X buses were grand really, I’d hop on at the terminal and slip on the headphones and then all the traffic in the world never bothered me. The sound from the walkman (a Sony of course) would just take me away and most times I’d dose off after a few minutes and wake up at my destination. From there it was a five minute walk to the office where my dull day began. I never took a book onto the bus, reading in a moving car, bus, train or plane gives me a fucker of a headache.
This routine went on Monday to Friday for well over a year and I got used to, almost immune to the monotony of it all. I sat on the same seat each day and the days I didn’t fall asleep I wasted the time looking around at all the regular faces on the bus and made a guess at what kind of life they had; what job they had and where they happy in it ? What kind of social or even sex life they had and were they happy in that, did they get on well with their friends and family, did they cheat on their wife, you know anything to pass the time, but as I’ve said most time the music from the Walkman put me asleep, it suited me fine. Anyway on with the tale.
The particular day my story takes place was a Tuesday evening. I remember this well because for me Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning are the very pits of the week. It’s too late in the week to live off the memories of the previous weekend and it’s too early in the week to plan for the forthcoming weekend. It is my considered opinion that of all things dull and boring there is nothing worse than a Tuesday evening.
The weather on that day was in traditional Irish style overcast and for the whole day it had threatened to rain, the rain had, so far, not yet arrived. I’d had an entirely shitty day in work and was really in a foul mood when I got on the bus. I even had to run for the bus and the run reminded me of how totally out of shape I was. Getting back into shape was yet another thing in my life that I had spent a long time planning to do but as yet had not yet gotten around to doing it. I paid my money to the driver and noticed with annoyance that he was not the usual guy, when I’m in a bad mood even the slightest thing pisses me off even more and the fact the Dublin Bus couldn’t even provide the proper driver put me in even worse form. When I got upstairs I noticed that the bus was nearing being full but it lightened my mood a bit to see that my regular seat was still free near the front right side of the bus. I took a little longer then I expected to get my breath back, and the bus was moving before I reached into my brief case and