Falafel, by Dima

Where was the bus?  It was a cold and rainy November night.  I had stood in the rain for half an hour trying to hail a cab.  Each one that passed by was occupied and I finally gave up.  I took refuge in a bus shelter and resigned myself to public transport.  Twenty minutes went by and I was cold, wet and impatient.  There was very little traffic on this street and I hadn’t seen even a passer-by in a long time.  I was beginning to feel uneasy when I saw headlights approaching in the distance.  Finally, a bus.  I wasn’t quite sure how I’d ended up in this sleepy corner of town anyway.  But all roads lead to Rome, and all buses lead to the transit centre, so soon enough, I figured, I’d be back in familiar surroundings.

With excruciating slowness the bus – really hardly more than a van, but I guess they used theses smaller shuttles to service the less busy routes – trundled up the road to where I stood, now back in the rain again, waving my arm so that I wouldn’t be missed in the weak moonlight.  Where were the streetlights, anyway?

With what seemed to be extreme caution, the driver pulled the bus up alongside the curb, and after several seconds the doors hissed open.  I leaped up as soon as they’d folded in enough to give enough room for me to get through.  I removed my hat and it released the water that had pooled up on top onto my head and coat.  I glared at the driver as if to say, “This is your fault- where have you been?”  He returned my stare with a vacant expression.

“It’s been a while,” I said, not quite sure what I expected as a response.  The driver’s expression showed no change.  He was an Indian fellow, probably a little older than me, and he balanced a plate of falafel on his lap.  After a few seconds he picked up one of the morsels and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.  Then he finally spoke.

“It’s miserable out there,” he said, and then nodded as if to convince himself that he was telling the truth.

“Yes,” I agreed, “very miserable.  And there’s been no one around for...”  It was at this point I finally cast my gaze into the rear of the vehicle.  He and I were the only ones on the bus.  Indeed not a very busy route, then.  He’d probably been surprised to someone hovering around the bus stop.

He nodded again and repeated, “Miserable,” and went for the next falafel.  I nodded, too – I guess it was contagious – and fished out the $3.10 for the fare.  Three dollars and ten cents.  Ridiculous.  Oh, well.  Cheaper than the cab.  And so it ought to be- I could smell a decade of college students’ energy drinks and bums’ dirty coats wafting up from the seats.  And the distinct odour of rotten eggs.  I trudged to the very back of the bus and took off my sopping wet coat to lay it on the adjacent seat.

“Very miserable!” the man called back again, and I nodded enthusiastically.  I hoped he’d see that I agreed and stop feeling the need to repeat himself.  I saw him put on his cap, and we pulled away.  I leaned back and closed my eyes, glad to finally be going somewhere.  I felt weariness descend upon me.  I didn’t worry about falling asleep- all roads lead to Rome.  If I fell asleep, the driver would wake me up at the transit centre before taking off on another round.

I didn’t sleep, however, though I sat there with my eyes closed for what must have been 15 or 20 minutes.  I felt terrible uneasiness and my mind simply could not rest.  It must have been the deeds of the day, deeds I was not proud of, now swooping in to haunt me.  No rest for the wicked, they say, but soon enough I’d be at home and have access to my sleep aids, should I need them.

At long last I stopped trying to rest and opened my eyes.  It seemed much darker outside now.  Still no street lights, no moon to be seen at all, only the two beams from the headlights groping their way forward like ethereal feelers.  I could only barely make out the outline of buildings at the side of the road.  I made my way to the front of the bus.

“Much longer before we arrive?” I asked, and the driver shook his head.  He was humming a tune and seemed not to want to stop to talk to me.

“How much longer?” I pressed, and he sighed and stopped humming.

“Just a few minutes.  You haven’t gone too far.”

I think I nodded again, but it seemed odd to me.  I sat back down.  Over the next several minutes I grew more and more anxious as the outside seemed to get darker and darker, impossibly so, and the anxiety hanging in the air seemed to grow so thick as to make breathing difficult.  What was going on?  I had never been given to panic attacks.  I tried to control my breathing, but it didn’t help.

I looked out the window.  It was hard to see anything.  What I could see was certainly not seeming any more familiar than where I’d come from.  I started gritting my teeth unconsciously.

Another 2 or 3 or maybe 5 minutes passed and I was about to pester the driver again when suddenly, to my relief, I saw a familiar building up ahead.  Somehow, it was the only building I could make out.  Not illuminated at all – was there any light? - , but I could see it.  It was... oh yes!  It was my office building!  Yes, now we’re getting somewhere!

I was surprised as the bus slowed down.

“Are we stopping here?” I called up to the driver.  He didn’t answer.  I hoped not.  I certainly spent enough time at the office and could barely stand to be there the 10 hours a day that I was.  I had no intention of returning for more.

The driver did indeed bring the bus to a halt, and I heard the doors hiss open.

“Everybody out!” he called, and I made my way, somewhat confused, to the front.

“Sorry,” I said, “is this the end of the line?  And is this ParkerLife Building?”  The driver smiled and shook his head.

“No, no,” his smile grew even wider, “This is... your Hell.”

I felt my eyes grow wider and I turned back to look at the building.  But it was not there anymore. In its place were all the deeds of the day.  Played out in lurid detail before my eyes.  The foolishness, the complete indifference to matters of real importance that I saw now characterized my entire existence, laid out for me to experience, as I now felt certain, over and over and over again.  I knew for the first time in many years true horror.  Tendrils of darkness poured in through the door and started to wrap around my arms and legs, straining against me, pulling me out.

I whipped my head around to yell back at the driver.

“You can’t make me go out there!  I will die!  I know it!  I will die!  I cannot do this again!  I will die!”  The driver laughed.

“You surely will not die,” he whispered, “You may never die.  This is yours forever.  This is what you’ve made.”

And at that point I couldn’t struggle against the wisps of nights anymore, and they dragged me out the door into the night, and into my eternity, and as I began to wail, the bus doors hissed shut, pushing out a final gust of falafel and rotten eggs.