volume one hundred and sixty-five

where are you going?

📍Written from my favourite library in the world, The State Library of Victoria in Naarm (Melbourne), on (my) Friday afternoon when I send this out to you (my) Friday night and that is why there is no audio this week. I am thankful for the latest volume of Susannah Rigg’s Substack which inspired me to get this special story to you this week at the eleventh hour.

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The bus ran every 50 minutes so the choice was to take one bus, and be 40 minutes early, or take the next one and be 10 minutes late. I couldn’t be late, because it was first come, first served and spots were limited. I couldn’t be as selfish as I had in the past. I have the privilege to follow a dream. So many can’t even get to the dreaming phase due to different circumstances making me more fortunate in my health and safety. 

I no longer have the audacity to have a dream and think “Nope, I am too scared to chase it!” when I have never (to simplify many not-so-simple situations) had to fear not making it through the day. How dare I take that for granted?

But this isn’t a story about that. It’s just what got me on the 5:40pm bus and not the 6:30pm bus to get to the city before 7pm.

That is how I first saw him. That’s not true. I was glued to my phone and I didn’t see anyone. I saw my screen in front of me and the occasional view — “Oh wow, the ocean, I didn’t know you could see it from here!” — when the motion sickness got the better of me and I needed to look up. Usually around the time we passed through the transfer station, I had to put my phone away. But I never learned not to get it out in the first place to save myself from feeling ill for the majority of my bus rides. That is how I smelled the roast chicken before I saw him.

He sat across the aisle from me. His tall shoulders rounded to make him appear smaller than I knew he was, because his legs barely fit in front of him, too. He held his iPad in one hand, his headphones connected and in his ears, and I saw he was watching the news so I looked away.

Was the smell him or someone else?

I stole another glance to see he was eating something from a plastic bag.

The motion sickness as a vegetarian trapped inside a bus with no open windows and the heat on with a roast chicken next to me was another level. I have never minded the smell. Roommates and partners have kindly asked if it is okay to cook meat in the house. “As long as you don't ask me to eat it!” I would always reply. But I had windows to open and seats that stayed motionless to sit in.

He watched the news intently and I wondered what he was curious about. All of it? Certain events? None of it, it was just habit?

His paperboy hat fit his head perfectly. As did his trenchcoat to his tall body. His trousers were likely tailored. He was extremely well dressed right down to his comfy-looking, pristinely clean, black leather joggers on his feet. 

I wondered where he was going in the city. He had hopped on just a few stops after me, around a few bends, near the local shops. He likely got that chicken from the takeaway store or the grocery store and was heading out for the night. Aside from the five store complex, all that was around this area were houses. Did he have family to meet? Friends? A social gathering to attend? It clearly wasn’t dinner he was headed to.

The skin on his face glowed and that’s when I realised he reminded me of my Grandpa. The Grandpa one who passed away when I was 10 and I don’t remember very well. I do remember he was tall and that he hunched. I remember he didn’t say much and that he was a quiet man. I remember he had skin that glowed, too — not without aging, not without flaws, not without the bristle of an unshaven face — but with a secret. This man had the same. Grandpa barely smiled but when he did, his eyes — that gave nothing away — would, too. Could he be the same age my Grandpa was when he died? Maybe a few years younger, but not by much. Did he also live alone? Was the idea of cooking for one so unappealing that buying half a chicken seemed the more appropriate option? As a single human who doesn’t drive, was this my future?

He finished his chicken, and the news, and leant against the window to fall asleep. I subtly watched his headphones dangle, ready to grab them for him if he dropped them and return them safely to their owner. I watched other people get on the bus — loud, young, intoxicated — and watched where they sat wouldn’t disturb him. 

I got off the bus in the city. Only a few stops left on the route that would remain in the city, then it would keep going to the suburbs on the other side. He was still on the bus. 

Where was he headed?

For six weeks, every Monday, I caught the bus to the Open Mic and when we passed some bends and made it to the local shops, he would get on. I started to smile at him, though his hunch diverted his eyes to the ground and he never smiled back. He always sat across from me. Maybe he too liked to be up higher in the back rows, to better see out the window. But not the row in front of us above the wheels because our long legs had to bend more there. And not the back row because that was reserved for teenagers and they are terrifying.

Week after week he didn’t see me look at him and week after week he boarded with his iPad and his chicken dinner and I began to expect him and still wondered where he went every Monday night.

My not being selfish paid off. I was invited to do a Friday night show, and excitedly boarded the bus at my usual time, on a different day. When we got to the shops the man, his chicken and the news boarded too. So wherever he was going, he went more than once a week.

On my final weekend, I walked to the shops to top up my bus card before venturing out that night. I entered the newsagency and to my right, a cupboard door was opened. From beneath it, I saw a pair of legs and a voice that came from behind it softly and kindly said “Be with you in a minute!”

“No worries! Take your time!” I replied and turned my back to walk to the counter to wait.

A moment later, he appeared. The man from the bus was the man from behind the cupboard door and the man who worked at the newsagent and every time I saw him on the bus, he was heading home after a long day's work.

I smiled at him knowingly as I made my request. He smiled back. I couldn’t tell if it was a knowing smile or a customer service smile.

Later that day, dressed and ready to get out the door, I was running late. I made my way to the bus that came later. Not 50 minutes later. I didn’t have that time to spare, I was meeting someone. I was getting a whole different line, one where I would have to exit at the transfer station and board another bus. Inconvenient but necessary to make my commitment. An entirely different bus route at an entirely different time.

I guess he was running late, too.

Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me has a stranger appeared in your life on multiple occasions? This happens to me often and I am always grateful.

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here are three things i struggled with this week:

🚕 Hiding who I am, again, to feel safe around taxi drivers, again. “Yes, I have a boyfriend!”

🍨 Spilling chocolate ice cream on my white shirt right before I performed on a comedy show.

🤡 Being sarcastic and putting my foot in my mouth because people thought I was being serious. I apologised but felt like a clown.

here are three blessings from this week:

☀️ Spring is here!

🦋 My new housesit is a writer’s dream. Sun! Gardens! Flowers! Tall trees! Quiet! Wildlife! Walking tracks!

🐙 I am seeing the cracks begin to form. They’re the kind of cracks I want. Time is opening up. Slowly but surely, I am making it happen by shedding a few hard but necessary things to say goodbye to, to open myself up in the room they’re making.

here are three goals for the coming week:

🥊 Show up for the right fights.

🚋 Take the tram from the house to the city and get off wherever looks fun. There are a lot of places that look fun. It’ll be a long, fun day.

🫛 Pick my dinner from the garden.

pics or it didn’t happen:

my new housesit backs onto a wildlife sanctuary so my daily walks include chats with emus. no big deal.

I love you and I appreciate you reading my letters because I really enjoy writing them to you.

🧡, LD (lauren deborah | they/she)