Page 61 of Heart Sick

When he gets closer to the bus, we make eye contact. Neither of us looks away. A slanted grin plays at his mouth, sending my heart into overdrive. He’s quite bold, looking at me openly with those blue eyes. He comes to a stop before me and extends his arm overhead, pressing his hand to my window.

He has silver rings on his fingers. He looks like a rock star.

The gesture touches me deeply. But it also has heat engulfing every inch of me.

He splays his fingers, never taking his eyes off me. It’s a peace offering as such, him waiting for me to meet him halfway.

But I don’t.

I quickly turn my cheek, looking away.

Guilt overcomes me, which is ridiculous. I don’t even know this man. There’s no need to feel guilt. But it won’t subside. I turn back to the window, ready to accept his offering, but it’s too late—he’s gone.

He’s not gone far, however, because when I hear a whistle, I know shit is about to go down.

“Are we going on an excursion?” says a voice that is dripping with sarcasm and sex. “I hope you packed lunch.”

Heart in my throat, I lift my eyes and meet those of this mysterious stranger who is boldly looking my way. He seems pissed off and confused. I think I was the one to cause those feelings in him. I watch as his escort drags him to a seat two rows in front of me and shoves him into it before sitting beside him.

The bus driver starts the engine and turns up the radio as he slowly drives down the driveway.

I’m unsettled and can’t stop looking at the man in front of me. There’s something special about him.

I can’t shake the feeling that he has the ability to change the world, which is absurd.

He turns around; not over his shoulder, but actually rotates in his seat and interlaces his arms across the back of the chair. He rests his chin on them and stares at me. I look behind me in case he’s trying to get the attention of someone else, but when it’s apparent it’s me he’s looking at, I swallow past the lump in my throat.

The nurse beside me giggles. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer…and not a bad-looking one at that.”

The man grins, eyes still dissecting me. “Hi.”

It takes me a few seconds, but I nod with a stiff upper lip.

Most would get the hint and turn back around, but not him. “How’s this weather?” he says with a staged sigh.

I bite my cheek to mute my laughter.

“That’s enough. Turn back around,” says the orderly near him, yanking him to face the front.

But no surprise, he doesn’t listen.

He just continues staring at me and commences whistling a tune which sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. He whistles louder, which only has the notes inside my head forming music which I can hear—I can hear the voice of a man who I recognize but can’t name.

I shut out all other noise and focus on the whistling, and when he draws out a section, a voice inside of me whispers a name which I feel I should know—but I can’t remember why.

“Bowie,” I whisper, running my finger across my bottom lip.

The man stops whistling and slowly turns back around.

What thefuckjust happened?

We’re ushered off the bus and told to stand in single file. The townspeople stop and stare, attempting to conceal their thoughts with the back of their hands as they whisper to friends. But it’s apparent we’re not welcome here.

A blonde woman dressed quite fashionably appears. Her large sunglasses take up most of her face, but it’s apparent she is really beautiful. Passersby now stare for another reason. I don’t know who she is, but she’s in charge.

Her attention focuses on the man who I’ve dubbed Bowie as that was the name which came to me when he was whistling. I don’t know what it means, and it frustrates me. Why have I forgotten? I know rudimentary things like how to use a knife and fork and how to talk and write, but in regard to who I am or why I’m here—my mind is a blank slate.

However, when there is a heated exchange between the woman and Bowie, it’s obvious I remember how to be jealous.

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