Bus stop

I got to the bus stop and sat on the bench. There was a tiny wizened old man already there. My Ipod had died on the way over and with nothing else to do I struck up a conversation.

"Been waiting long?" I asked.

"All my life," he responded.

"Huh?"

"My entire life has been made up of waiting. Waiting to be old enough for school. Waiting for my first kiss. My first job. My first child. The bus. Every aspect is some waiting. At my age, you start to wonder how much of your life is spent waiting around instead of doing. It's a lot."

"I guess I never thought of it like that."

"No, no one ever does until it's really too late to do anything about it. Like me. I certainly never gave a hoot about the future until it was already here and it was too late to change. Now my time is almost up and all I've got left is waiting for the bus and waiting to die."

"Hey now, you're in pretty good shape..." I protested. "You'll probably live another ten years, at least."

He sighed. "You're probably right. But why would I want to? I've already been put into a home by my kids. My wife is dead. The future in front of me now is long and unchanging. In ten years everything will be exactly the same at best or much much worse. Why would I want to live like that?"

"It can't be all bad," I protested feebly, letting him continue. I could feel the urgency behind his words. He had to tell somebody, but nobody was listening. Except me.

"I'm just waiting for death now. You know the worst part about being old? It's not losing friends and loved ones. That's hard of course. It's not remembering youth and vitality. It's remembering everything that's happened to you throughout the course of your life. it weighs on you, gnaws at you. Your memory becomes so heavy, so bloated with facts and faces and places you can hardly stand it. Remembering everything you've left behind. That is the worst."

I opened my mouth to say something but just then the bus arrived. The old man got on and just before I did I changed my mind and decided to walk instead. It wasn't too far and it was a beautiful day. As the bus pulled away, i caught a glimpse of the old man. I smiled at him and raised my hand. After a moment he smiled back.

Saturday Night

Someone ordered a double shot of whiskey and George poured it absentmindedly as he stared at the dance floor. He hardly noticed the banging of the music or the schizophrenic light that bobbed and weaved over the crowd in spasms. Both the novelty and the subsequent irritation had worn off and now he simply accepted them both as part of his reality on the job.

He looked past and through the customers who would saddle up to the bar for another quick shot of something numbing before disappearing into the swaying mass of dancing flesh. He worked swiftly and efficiently and unless you knew him really well you'd never guess anything was the matter.

George had been a bartender for a few years now and suddenly found his job very unrewarding. It wasn't that it didn't pay well; for the amount of work he did, it was extremely lucrative. It certainly wasn't hard. It was just that...well, he didn't know. He just had this nagging feeling that something should be different. The more he tried to shake it off, the more it persisted.

So he numbly but carefully went through the motions of his job until suddenly the night was over and he was off work. It was practically like he'd blinked and he was out on the street walking home.

He got home to find Laura asleep on the couch while the TV chirped cheerfully about the world's first (and best!) electric hairbrush. She must have waited up for him. Normally he would have been home long ago, but he had decided to walk hoping the sharp clear night air would unmuddy his head.

It didn't really work. All he had to show for his time was a bone deep chill. George went to get a blanket and then softly shook Laura awake.

"MMMMmmm.." she mummered, stirring slightly.

"Come on, we should go to bed. It's so late it's early again." George said softly.

"How was work?" she responded, yawning. Her eyes were still closed.

"Oh, fine.." he said distantly.

"Something wrong?"

"No..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"That didn't sound too certain..let's go to bed and you can tell me all about it."

"Alright."

They made their way to the bedroom and she leaned into him and nuzzled his arm, warming him and making him smile a little. She lay on the bed and he sat on the edge, his back away from her.

"So what is it?" She asked, stifling a yawn.

"I don't really know," he began. 'Just that lately, I've been feeling really....discontent at work. I mean, it's the same job and everything, but I just don't seem to get as much out of it as I used to."

"You don't like it?"

"I like it fine. I'm just...bored or something I guess. Every now and again I get this drab and dreary feeling, which I usually just shake off, or find some way to distract myself until it lifts."

"Like how?"

"Oh you know, people watch. Or cracking jokes. A shot of something. Flirting."

Laura was not the jealous type and so this had affect on her. Their relationship was pretty relaxed anyway, though they both had deeper feelings than they cared to admit.

"So why not do that now?"

"I have been, but it's just not working anymore. I can't seem to lift myself up anymore. It's like something is different. The same old thing isn't working anymore. Maybe..maybe it's because the job is same, but I've changed. I started this job and 21 and never looked back. I make good money but I haven't built myself any kind of life besides that. Outside the bar, I don't engage the world at all. It's time to carve out a real life for myself, one in which I really take the world in and experience some of what's really out there...what do you think?"

George turned around to face Laura and found her fast asleep. He smiled and kissed her before covering her with the blanket. Then he put on some pajamas and went to bed, sleeping more soundly than he had in a long while.