Bus Stop

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Abstract

would she say to her boss? He had been particularly hard on her these last few weeks, though she wasn’t sure why.</p><p id="60f0"><i>The dog ate my homework?</i></p><p id="df79">No. Wrong scenario.</p><p id="25ec"><i>I had a doctor’s appointment this morning?</i></p><p id="ffe6">Again, no. She would have told him before now.</p><p id="6a58"><i>I binge-watched my new favourite show on Netflix until 4am and slept through my alarm?</i></p><p id="2e6b">Uh, uh. It wasn’t going to fly.</p><p id="d125" type="7">How could she explain the true reason why she was late for the umpteenth time this month?</p><figure id="d9ab"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*h22CbmmgAlYFgc1lyP2-xw.jpeg"><figcaption>Pexels</figcaption></figure><p id="daf2">How could she explain the <i>true</i> reason why she was late for the umpteenth time this month? The fact of the matter was that she hadn’t been able to sleep since learning of her diagnosis. It had turned her world upside down, knowing that she would slowly but surely rot from the inside. It was inevitable; a foregone conclusion. All of the science had proven this to be the case.</p><p id="f39b">“I guess it’s just a matter of time,” she said, half-asking hopefully, half-stating resignedly to her oncologist upon bei

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ng told the news. His sympathetic response solidified her worst fears. It would be a slow, painful conclusion, dragged out over time. How much time, no one knew, but she secretly hoped that it would be sooner than later. This impending reality that would be her life — or rather, her death — was coming, whether she liked it or not.</p><p id="468f">The bus finally came into view, further down the road than she thought she could see. That <i>was</i> the familiar red and gold motif of the city bus that she rode daily. It was coming towards her now, quickly. In what seemed to feel simultaneously like hours and seconds, it was in front of her. Shattering her repose, the door loudly and mechanically swung open and in she ascended.</p><div id="9a33" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-silent-soldier-4f4f6db063eb"> <div> <div> <h2>The Silent Soldier</h2> <div><h3>Truths not spoken</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*gBtqres2OSTxxdAo4dw7hg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Bus Stop

Waiting

Pexels

She had been waiting in the shelter for some time now. The bus didn’t appear to be coming. Or perhaps it was, but she was just impatient.

Either way, she wasn’t happy. Once again, late for work, she’d have to provide yet another excuse to her very time-conscious boss. Between the unpredictable transit service in her city and the events of last night, she would be late. Really late.

“All in good time,” her mother used to say. Sure mom, she thought. You never had to rush off to an 8:30am start at work every morning, so what do you know?

It was surely easier in her parents’ time, when women stayed home, she thought to herself. What a deal! Get married, have kids and you had it “made in the shade” if you were a woman. At least that’s what she thought while shivering in the bus shelter this cold November morning.

What would she say to her boss? He had been particularly hard on her these last few weeks, though she wasn’t sure why.

The dog ate my homework?

No. Wrong scenario.

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning?

Again, no. She would have told him before now.

I binge-watched my new favourite show on Netflix until 4am and slept through my alarm?

Uh, uh. It wasn’t going to fly.

How could she explain the true reason why she was late for the umpteenth time this month?

Pexels

How could she explain the true reason why she was late for the umpteenth time this month? The fact of the matter was that she hadn’t been able to sleep since learning of her diagnosis. It had turned her world upside down, knowing that she would slowly but surely rot from the inside. It was inevitable; a foregone conclusion. All of the science had proven this to be the case.

“I guess it’s just a matter of time,” she said, half-asking hopefully, half-stating resignedly to her oncologist upon being told the news. His sympathetic response solidified her worst fears. It would be a slow, painful conclusion, dragged out over time. How much time, no one knew, but she secretly hoped that it would be sooner than later. This impending reality that would be her life — or rather, her death — was coming, whether she liked it or not.

The bus finally came into view, further down the road than she thought she could see. That was the familiar red and gold motif of the city bus that she rode daily. It was coming towards her now, quickly. In what seemed to feel simultaneously like hours and seconds, it was in front of her. Shattering her repose, the door loudly and mechanically swung open and in she ascended.