The only woman, who appears to be in the right age bracket, blushes. Due to her fair complexion, her blush is readily apparent. She has shoulder length auburn hair, a hint of a freckle or two on her cheeks and sea-green eyes; I couldn't help noticing the last time I got off the bus. She chooses to sit at the forward end the bench seat on the opposite side from me. Until our man disembarks, she spends her time reading. Then she puts her book away and appears to be taking in the superfluous chatter about Our Man. We gaze idly at each other. She says nary a word and neither do I. As a matter of fact, we are the only ones who don't contribute to the gossip, call it what you will. I refrain due to painful shyness. I don't know about the young woman though. I do feel strangely irritated about all the chatter concerning Our Man. I can't, for the life of me, understand why I have come to feel this way.
One morning, as I'm preparing to leave the bus, I accidently smile at her. She smiles back. I am emboldened. I don't know what has come over me. The next morning, I accidently say goodbye. She replies in kind. Saying goodbye is a start. It is not anywhere nears as confrontational as saying hello. One day, I promise myself, I'll stay on until Burrard Station. After about six weeks of goodbyes, I bite the bullet. I faile to get off at Waterfront and am relieved to notice that she notices. When we near Burrard Station, I stand alone on the rear exit platfrom. It is all I can do to refrain from saying goodbye.
It is a cool morning. A crisp breeze is blowing off the inlet, straight up Burrard Street. I am sweating profusely. When the young lady eventually steps off, I casually fall into step beside her.
"Excuse me," I say.
She doesn't say a word. She does stop and she does smile.
"I was wondering," I begin. "Uh, I was wondering."
"I was wondering too."
Bless her for helping me out.
"What were you wondering?"
"Tom, I was wondering when you were going to muster up the courage to speak to me."
"I tried to," I said. "I guess, I didn't do a very good job of it." I wondered how she knew my name. "I imagine saying goodbye forty-one times doesn't make me the world's greatest conversationalist."
"I'm just glad that you finally have gotten around to talking to me."
"You are?" I was stunned but recovered quickly. "Would you like to have lunch?"
"I'm afraid, I have a luncheon meeting today. I usually catch the 5:22 though." She smiled again was gone.
"See you," I said vaguely.
At twelve minutes after five, I am waiting at Burrard Station. Twelve minutes later the bus comes. The bus is not the only late comer. Where the heck is she? Don't tell me this is going to be one of those easy let downs. I'm crushed. What should I do? I could wait for the next one just in case she is tied up at the office. That would be too pushy. I step aside and let others board. Oh what the heck, I thought. I'm getting on this bus even though I now have to stand. Cut your losses, I tell myself. Catch the 7:08 tomorrow morning. I'm not going to show her that I'm eager. Of course, I am but I realize it's not good strategy to reveal it. Don't let her see you sweat, I tell myself. My thoughts are confusing as all get out. The more I think, the more confused I become.
I'll wait, I decide. The bus driver is about to close the door, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I know that I am going to be elated. I turn. For someone who is built like a linebacker, he has a very gentle touch. He hands me an envelope.
"What's this?" I ask.