Catching the wrong bus

17 Feb

I met her at the bus stop,
our eyes met over cigarettes.
Something transmitted
and we spoke a while.
Instant obvious attraction.
.
She was Romanian,
living in Manchester,
flying home to see family.
Beautiful.
.
She looked intently.
“You are nice man, will you watch my bag?”
and she went to find the toilets.
.
Then I took the English gent further;
decoding the timetable wording for her,
standing close to shield her
as she lit another fag.
.
Our hands touching.
.
“Are you going on my bus?”
she said, hopeful. Soft smile.
An hour in the wrong direction?
“No. Sorry, I’m going home.”

She asked again 2 minutes later.
An hour. To an airport. For a girl who lived in Manchester.
“No. I can’t.”
.
Her bus came,
she waved sadly and went.
.
Riding home I realised that this was the wrong bus.
.
.
.

Advertisements

One Response to “Catching the wrong bus”

  1. belfastdavid February 23, 2011 at 1:20 pm #

    Ah,

    So often I have caught the wrong bus.
    And, once caught, there is no way back!!

    David

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: