Waiting for the Bus

Absentmindedly, I reached up and wrapped my hand around my necklace. The tip of my little finger traced over it, feeling how it formed the word, ‘breathe.’ I let out a chuckle. Taking time to breathe was definitely something I needed to do more often. When I’d bought the necklace, I joked about how maybe it would help me remember, half-hoping that maybe it would. Clearly, it hasn’t worked. Funny I ever thought it would.

Well, right then it did, as after I touched it, I realized I was holding my breath again. I let it out, then took a deep inhale of air, and slowly let it out, trying to get fresh oxygen into my lungs. It appeared in front of me, in a thin white cloud. That reminded me how cold it was, and why I was stressed now. It was suppose to be spring, the time of year when everything warmed up. But here it was, as chilly as ever. Strangely, it had been warmer this morning, so I didn’t grab my jacket. But while I was inside at a dance, the temperature turned inside out like my sweater. I thought about grabbing a jacket this morning when I left. Now I was wishing I did.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, I guess, had the bus not been late. That was my main stressor at the moment. Things just kept going bad for me lately, and this was the latest case. I’d hurried here from the studio, so not to risk missing it, and, go figure, it was late. So now I was stuck waiting in the insane, freak cold, with all these people I could swear were looking at me like I was an idiot for not wearing a jacket.

I looked down the street both ways. It still wasn’t coming yet. And, okay, I confess that I didn’t know for sure if it was on time or not, as I never wore a watch, but based on how long I’d been waiting, the small crowd that was slowly growing around the bus stop, and how the people were getting impatient, I could pretty much conclude it was late. It sure felt like it was, though that could’ve been because I was so cold. I’d heard someone say earlier that it could be worse—it could?!—and it was at least above freezing right now. But this was much colder than I was use to. I was not from around here, as could clearly be confirmed by the fact that I was the only one at the bus stop who clearly felt as though they were freezing to death. Everyone else was likely born here, and was use to this dreadful cold.

I’m originally from Phoenix, Arizona, a part of the country where it never got this cold. Not even in the winter, not even at night. And I’d never lived anywhere else, had never been to somewhere cold, not even just on a visit. But my dad’s company didn’t give him much choice. They told him we had to move or he had to quit. Since we need the income, move up here it was. But I wish someone had warned me about the weather here, or given me some sort of idea what it would be like here. I knew it was cold, but it never occurred to me how cold. Because of that, when we got here, I not only had a bit of culture shock, I had ‘weather shock,’ per se. Four days after we got here, a short heat wave ended, and it dropped 15 degrees overnight. Much to my surprise, no one found it shocking.

“It happens,” someone told me. “The weather here is so unpredictable.”

Oh great, I thought, just great. I was going to be living here until graduation, and I’d have to endure this unearthly cold more than once, plus who-knows-what else.

“And besides, it could be colder.”

I scoffed at that, but now I took it back, as I how say how right they were.

A car drove by, and a slush puddle splashed, though thankfully not at me. But to be safe, I took a step back, to make sure I was out of any spray zone. The wind had also picked up a little, making me colder. I rubbed the tops of my Chucks against the cuffs of my pant legs, trying to warm my ankles up. I thought about maybe unrolling them, but with the way things had been working for me lately, I figured the bus would choose to finally show up then, and the minute I took a step, I’d trip and fall right on my face. I’d been such a klutz lately, I wouldn’t have doubt it happening. Of course then the thinking about my cuffs lead to how much I hate being short, and having to do things like cuff my pant legs. ‘Petite’, my mom called it, as if just using that synonym instead would make it all better; it never did.

Before I could get any more upset, my internal monologue was thankfully interrupted just then. Only it was because of the sound of some guy behind me spitting. I cringed at the sound. My uncle did it, my ganddad did it, and I even saw my dad sometimes did it. I would always hate it with a passion. Of all the things that got under my skin, that was near the top of the list.

I sighed and looked up at the sky, trying to ignore it and get the sound out of my mind. I guess things could have been worse that day. The sun was out at least. That made a world of different.

Looking back down, I check for the bus again. Still nothing.

I really need to get a copy of the bus schedule, I thought. Then I had the idea to let my hair out of my braid. That might warm my neck a little more. So I took the tie out and unwove it. It only helped a little, but I was grateful for it.

I didn’t really need to do it, I guess, because when I looked again, lo and behold, the bus was finally coming around the corner. It was about time.