37C

“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I inched to the other edge of the small bench which sat stationary beneath the street light to give room for Me to sit down. The radiance which emanated from the lamp post only covered about a five-foot circumference, allowing the ensuing area around the post to be ostensibly floating in black space. The concrete a few feet in front of my own feet seemed to trickle and dissolve like a cheesy movie effect into the blackness which spanned infinitely in all directions. It reminded me of a geometric plane.
“Nice weather we’re having.”
“No… not really.”
Silence.
“Which bus are you taking?”
“37C.”
Dot. Dot. Dot.
I snapped my fingers and muttered curses in arduous frustration.
Me uttered, “What’s wrong?”
“I left my oven on.”
“Oh… me too.”
Quietness.
Me started shaking his left leg anxiously in a relentless vibrating motion. I did the same. It was an involuntary nervous reaction. My dad does the same when he sits at his computer reading an email. I looked down to check the time on my watch.
“It’s getting pretty late,” I affirmed loudly, as if it would make the bus appear faster knowing that it was running behind schedule at such an advanced hour.
Me checked his watch as well. “Yes… quite.”
Pause of sound waves.
Me generates a mechanical sound wave a few seconds later. “May I ask you a question?”
“By all means.”
“Where does 37C go?”
I direct a suspicious glance at Me, who sits awkwardly at the end of the bench with slouched shoulders and a curious arch of his eyebrows. I imitate his appearance unconsciously.
“It goes where I need to go.”
“And where is that?”
Hiatus.
“Um… you know. It takes me where I need to go… to get where I want to be.”
I think for a few more moments of ambitions and quadratic equations before opening by pie hole again, “It’s my ticket to find my path in life. To be able to do what I was born to do.”
Me gaps an even longer break in the conversation, hibernating for a few minutes before speaking once more, “Can I ask you another question?”
No noise.
I look auspiciously at Me and squint my eyes, “By all means…”
“Why are you waiting to be able to do what you are meant to do if you’re meant to do it in the first place?”
I retaliate spontaneously, “I’m not ready yet! I’m not old enough, not prepared… no way no how, sir! I’m staying put till’ my ride comes and I know that I’m ready to go.”
Me grabs his hat and coat, gets up from his seat, and walks to the edge of the radius of light. Me places the hat on top of his head and adjusts it to an angle of contentment, then turns around and says, “If you know that something or someone is right for you, these minute barriers shouldn’t stop you. Obstacles are not things that should deter you from your destination, but rather should be your own tools to forge your path. The journey is what counts my friend.”
Me walks headlong into the darkness.
“In order to find the light you have to be willing to wade through the dark.”
I hear Me’s footsteps fade into distant clicks and clacks, lean forward on the bench and look both ways from the bus stop, grab my hat and coat, levitate from my seat—my knees cracking from their having been locked in the sitting position for so long, and stride with full force any which way into the shadows.