You wait at a bus stop to which the odd woman has directed you.
Within, a hand-written schedule is inked upon glass, and it isn’t promising. Buses seem to arrive every other day, and the most recent shows yesterday.
What, then, to do.
One option, of course, is to keep on this strange quest. Chasing after a stranger you don’t know to save someone you’ve hardly met … a chase put in motion because, what, you were feeling restless with the world around you? And who doesn’t feel restless, and what makes you special. It is interesting, though how restlessness in one setting leads to calm in others. Here you might just wait calmly. See what the next step brings. It’s better, after all, than that world you’ve left behind–it has more potential. It might somehow mean more. At least pass the time. Like any good story should. So fine, sit down, settle back, and wait.
Or are you not a music person so much as into finding your center: a better way to wait is to do a breathing exercise. Open up the app on your phone, the one that plays the sound of winds sighing across the desert, and begin breathing deeply, emptying yourself.
As you consider yet other options, you notice, jammed into the bus stop’s aluminum siding, a folded bit of yellowed paper. You work it carefully free, bit by bit, not wanting cause any damage. It is a small sheet as if from a notebook–similar to other notes you’ve seen these last few hours, days, weeks. And what good has reading notes left by others ever done for anyone? None, you’re pretty damn sure at this point, so you wedge the note back behind the metal … or can you just not help yourself from opening it up?
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