Look to Your Right | Teen Ink

Look to Your Right

December 8, 2008
By Anonymous

You look to your left. No one’s there. Just the empty sidewalk and the large white bus stop sign, on the back someone had engraved something in fine lettering. It shimmered in reflection, it read: “God is love”. You glance back behind you and there’s a bench nearby. You decide that it looks comfortable despite the chipping maroon paint, and the splintering wood beneath. You sit down and relax. Your mind begins to wander: the chirping of the birds is calming, the moisture-ridden air is refreshing, and how are you going to pay the rent? You’re removed from your thinking as you feel another presence on the bench. Motion pulses through the warped wood. You figure that you’ll just mind your own business; it’s merely a part of bus etiquette.

You close your eyes, tending to your thoughts once again. It’s broken by a thud. It was a dull noise, something heavy. Out of the corner of your eye you see it’s a book, you reach for it and pick it up off the bland concrete, it’s titled: Not Alone. You offer it back, but still diverting your eyes. You feel it would be rude to avoid eye contact, it’d be dismissive. You look to your right.

You’re greeted by a surprise. Your eyes meet with two other’s, they’re deep and serious. You practically get lost in them. They belong to a young woman. She smiles a warm smile, it’s comforting. You forget the tension you had in your neck and back. Her face is slim, so is her neck and torso. She thanks you for retrieving her book. Her voice is melodic, it’s pleasing. You attempt to talk back, but all you manage is a mess of words, tangled up by your surprise. She laughs, it’s not a giggle. It sounds sweet to your ears.

You regain your composure, and draw a deep breath. She beats you to the introductions. She extends her hand, and you take it, telling her your name. She smiles again, and she words hers in return: Allison. It seems fitting. You attempt a smile back, and she appears happy to receive it.

You both resume your original positions; you ask her where she’s going. She replies casually. She’s heading to the pier, her tone seems inviting. You respond with a nod, and ask if she has any company. She shakes her head back. After a few moments, you muster up some courage and will, you ask if she would appreciate company.

She’s quiet for a moment; a look of contemplation spreads across her fair face. She agrees with another welcoming smile.

You both hear the roar of the bus in the distance. It grows increasingly louder. It’s your carriage to the pier. Your medium to something better.

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