Fragrance

I woke up early, as usual, gathered my things and walked down to the bus stop.  I waited for about fifteen minutes, and then right on time the bus pulled up.  I climbed on, showed my pass, and then I took my usual seat at the back of the bus.  The other regulars were already on there, as usual. An elderly woman who was always sleeping, so I had never talked to her, and then a large black man who always had a smile on his face and was sure to say good morning to everyone who got on.  We had our routine exchange of courtesies as I walked by him and then I sat down and prepared for the long ride ahead.  My bus ride took about an hour, with one stop over at the main Transit Station in the downtown area, towards the end of my trip.  So I had some time to take a quick nap, which is what I usually did.

Now the funny thing is that my bus driver, Tom, was not in the bus today.  That was the first unusual thing.  When I asked, the less-than cheerful replacement said that Tom had called in sick.  Me and Tom had never been close, just the usual nod of the head, sometimes we'd go as far as to say good morning to each other, if we were in good moods.  But Tom was a great driver, and I didn't like having a stranger at the wheel of the bus.

The second unusual thing about that day was that I was wide awake.  Usually I had no problem falling asleep on the bus and napping the whole way, but today I couldn't even keep my eyes closed for a few seconds.  I felt uneasy, but for no apparent reason.  We made our routine stops, picking up more regulars all the way, and the occasional odd-ball.

Then the third unusual thing happened.  One regular that had been riding the bus as long as I had was not at her stop.  Tina, was her name.  She and I had been riding this bus together for ever.  We always sat next to each other, sometimes having conversation if I wasn't asleep.  We worked in the same hospital downtown.  She was a nurse and I was a janitor, but we'd both agreed we did our part to keep society safe.  But she was not there.  I didn't know her that well, we only hung out on the bus, but for some reason  felt offended she was not there.  Why hadn't she told.  Of course that was silly, she had no way of contacting me, and maybe she was sick or something.  Still, on the one day I couldn't fall asleep of course Tina was absent.  Now I had no one to talk to.

Then came the fourth and final unusual happening of the morning, though definitely the most significant.  We stopped at one of the stops and a young man dressed all in black, carrying a large and heavy looking duffle bag climbed on.  He had slip on shoes, black jeans, a black T-shirt with some brand name on it, and a big black jacket.  He paid for his ticket and then looked around the bus, choosing to sit right at the front.  The bus driver hadn't even started driving before the young man had sat down, unzipped his bag and pulled out a gun.  It was some sort of automatic handgun, not a revolver.  And it must have held a lot of ammo in the magazine because he managed to shoot everyone on the bus at least once, and there were about a dozen of us, not including the driver  The driver was first to go, the kid shot him in the head.  The doors had closed so no one could get out.  The kid turned and just started shooting at everyone.  The poor old lady had barely woken up before she was killed, and the big black man, well, somehow he managed to die smiling still.  Being at the back of the bus I was one of the last to get shot.  It all happened so fast, but at the same time, that moment when the kid turned the gun on me...time seemed to slow.

I remembered things.  Random things from my life.  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, they're right.  But it's not like you think.  You don't see a ton of images from your life...you have memories, random ones that don't seem to have much significance at first.   One memory was of me sitting at the top of a tree, and my father waving at me as he left for work.  Another was years later, in high school, I was sitting at the edge of the pool for swim practice and the popular girl, Jenny Mingle, walked by me, her hand brushed against my head.  I had always wondered if it was on purpose or on accident.  The last memory that I had was of only two nights ago.  Me and my brother (whom I shared an apartment with) were sitting watching TV, and he asked me "What are we doing for dinner tomorrow?"

Then the bullet entered my chest.  It seemed to hurt so bad that I felt no pain at all, or something weird like that.  I lay still and watched as the kid then pulled another gun from his bag, a smaller one, a revolver this time. I thought maybe he was going to make sure everyone was dead, but then he put the gun to his head and shot himself.  Then I blacked out.


I awoke a couple of days later in the hospital, my hospital.  Tina was there, smiling at me.

"Hey you, how're you feeling?"  she asked.

"Great...just great..." I blinked and looked around the room.  Gosh, I had never realized how dreary and dull our rooms were.  My chest was sore.  "Did anyone else make it?"  Tina's smile faded.

"No," she said, "there was a man who was still alive, but he died in the E.R.  No one else survived."

"Why'd I survive?" I asked blankly.

"You got lucky I guess, me too, I was sick that day and didn't go to work, otherwise I'd probably be dead too."

"This world is so awful Tina, it's just awful.  Why would a kid murder a dozen people and then kill himself.  What the hell is up with that?  It's just awful Tina, plain and simply awful."

"I agree Ted, I agree."

We both sat thoughtfully for a moment.  Then I noticed something.

"Tina," I said, "what a lovely fragrance you have on."