I got on the bus to go home. Ivan stood there all awkward and I felt bad for leaving, but I had things to do. I usually just walk home. It isn’t that far, and it is a really nice walk. There is a bridge that is built on another, much older bridge, and it always makes me feel like I am treading in the footsteps of important people when I cross it. And then there is an avenue of trees that I have to walk through. And this always makes me feel happy, and calm, and okay about the world. But I got the bus because it was a final thing, a proper Goodbye. I thought that if I walked home he might follow me, might walk along with me, and then it would get awkward when I got to my door and wanted to go inside. He would be standing there and I would look at his sad eyes and feel like I had to invite him in, and then I wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. Not that I don’t like having him around. Just, I had things to do and wouldn’t be able to get on with them if he was on my couch drinking coffee.
As the bus pulled out, Ivan waved and I pressed my fingers to the glass to mimic his gesture. The woman who shouts was on the bus. She was shouting. She is one of the reasons I don’t get the bus very often. She hates pretty much everyone, and if you are dumb enough to make eye contact she will shout at you and say bad words to you and won’t stop. When she does this, everyone on the bus looks away and pretends it is not happening. If they are sitting behind her, they will raise their eyebrows and shrug and smile in a “this is pretty bad” way. She is quite mental. I make sure I look only out of the window. I allow myself to be transfixed by glass.