THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID

My second short story for the term. Enjoy.

Bus People

I leave work and as my breath becomes mist, momentarily blinding me, I discover winter has truly arrived. I scrabble for the cigarette I've been counting down the hours to. I go to light it, but am stopped when I walk face first into what feels like a wall but is actually the broad chest of a man I don't really recognise. Although maybe I do know him? He seems a little familiar...
“You shouldn't smoke you know,” I hear what he's saying but I'm still trying to work out where I know him fr- “It affects everything, not just your lungs,” -om. This is so weird, can you get De Ja Vu for people? 'Cos it feels like- “It affects your hair, your skin, your breath. Your sex drive...”- De Ja Vu, but I don't know if you can...wait, did he just mention my sex drive? I look up, and his quizzical brow and leering demeanour confirms that yes he did just mention my sex drive.
“My...My what?”
“And let's face it”- he leans in a little and I blanch from the mustyness coming from his hot mouth- “we wouldn't want that now, would we?”
In this moment, two things suddenly occur to me: 1) I'm standing in front of a strange man I don't know, who's making lewd remarks about my sex drive and 2) I'm standing in front of a strange man I don't know, who's making lewd remarks about my sex drive and I'm alone. I toss my eyes around to double check and yep; definitely no one else is around. This is not a good place for a young woman of five foot three, who knows as much about self-defence as a nun does the Kama Sutra, to be.
I pull my phone out to give Lindsay a call- she's most definitely with Rob, her new boyfriend; I can't stand him. Linds argues my issues with him stem from the fact that his mate stood me up on the blind date they'd organised, but I argue it's because he's a twat and a massive control freak. But he is just that- massive. Currently, this guy has the height advantage but with Rob in tow it could even the odds a little. Dammit, I've got no signal. Stupid unreliable network.
“Samantha,” the sound of my name is foreign, snapping me back to the moment, “you're looking at me like you don't know me!” he laughs, his eyebrows arching so high they sit on his fringe, as it dawns on me why it sounded so weird to hear him say my name- he shouldn't know it.
“Er,” I take a few steps back and begin to sidle along the wall of the building that although five minutes ago I'd been desperate to leave I now sought the sanctuary of. “Well, that's probably something to do with the fact that I don't really know you!” I try giving him my best 'Hey, it could happen to anyone!' look, whilst simultaneously hiding my 'Oh god I'm going to be killed, who the hell is going to take care of my cat when I'm dead?!' look.
“Sammy,” he steps forward, following my terrified footfalls and falling into the shadow of the pillar behind him, so that all I can see is the outline of his dense figure and his words forming clouds in the cold night air, “Sam...we see each other everyday!” It sounds like he's smiling but I can't see his face. I'm reminded of these clowns that my Dad once hired for my eleventh birthday. They turned up and left half an hour later, once I'd stopped crying loud enough for one of them to make me a balloon animal. My dad had complained for days afterwards that it was £40 he'd never see again, but I'd hated those stupid clowns because I couldn't see their faces and it scared me. You don't really know what a person is thinking unless you can see their expression, you can only interpret how they say something and the way this hulk in front of me was talking caused a tickle along my hairline as I stood in fear.
I know I have to say something to him, but I want to sound as cavalier as I can, “When? When, I've- I've never-” I can't say that I've never seen him before because that's not true, I know him from somewhere, I just can't think-
“The bus, Sammy? I'm Ben from the bus?”
What does he mean, Ben from the- Oh. Shit.

It started when they put the new bus route in about four weeks ago; I'd been ecstatic. Being the lazy bitch that I am, finding out the bus, the 22A, went not only right by my road but ended up outside where I worked? It was like a fat kid's wet dream. No more rushing about to get ready, no more getting up at 06:30 every morning so that I could shower, eat, have a cup of tea, mentally prepare myself for going into work and facing the general public. Like, that guy who comes in twice a week to buy the same 12 pack of socks. Or the thirty-something who always brings his mum when he shops for underwear. You need time to brace yourself for these elusive mentalists. Oh God bless the 22A and all who sail in ye! The fact is, I don't actually mind my job at all; I'm the regional sales manager for a big store in the middle of the city. The problem is it's a hefty forty-five minute walk away from my house, and it's imperative I get there on time. It became so monotonous I began dreading going to sleep only to be woken up by what must be Satan's answer to an alarm clock. REE-REE-REE-REE-REE- searing through my sleeping ears and filling every pore with hate and despair- REE REE REE. If I heard a similar noise during the day I would feel ill, and very dark thoughts would drift to the fore of my mind. But when they introduced the 22A, I felt like my prayers had been answered. I began waking up at 07:30 instead, which seems like nothing but means the world when you're as lazy as I am. People even noticed the difference in me at work. Well they didn't say anything but I heard less whispers of 'Uppity Bitch' as I walked past them, and didn't find my-self tripping over the accidentally-on-purpose extended legs of my colleagues half as much as I used to.
I didn't notice Ben until about the fifth day of bus based fun. When I did, it was because the only seat left on the bus was beside him, and I remember thinking 'At least the spare seat's next to a normal'. As I sat down he smiled, and although he wasn't my type- I kinda go for the weedy, often bespectacled, musicians and this guy was all about the burly rugby player look- I noticed that he was easy on the eye and has a good sense of style- I recognised his jacket as one we had sold last month, very classy and well cut. My friends had pointed out to me before, though, that this was the case with me almost constantly, and that if I actually did hook up with every guy I said was cute I would probably have in the region of 134 children and counting. We never spoke, but a week later I noticed him on the bus again; this time because he was talking so loudly on the phone that it had annoyed me. I didn't recognise him as being the guy I'd sat next to though, until the very next day when I saw him on the 22A again- I figured he must have work to go to much like I do, and there were plenty of other people on the bus I'd begun to recognise; Hairy Lady, who's top lip was as fur-lined as a politically incorrect coat; Intense Asian Guy, who always looked like he was about to cry and would jump every time someone sat next to him, and that school kid that looked like a corporate owl. They were all there, and this guy just fell into the category of 'Bus People' that I never thought about.
But, evidently I didn't fall so much into that category in his mind; if his mind actually categorised things. Right now I'm thinking if his mind does categorise things, the piles are labelled 'crazy things I could do today' and 'Girls I stalk from the bus'. Damn, I haven't said anything to him whilst I was remembering all this, I should probably say something.
“Ok, but... I don't actually ever remember telling you my name so...” word yourself carefully Sammy-Girl, don't be blunt with the guy; he looks like he could break you, “How is it that you know what...I'm called?” 'What I'm called'? I'm making myself sound like a pet. He considers this for a minute, whilst I gently rock back and forth on my heels trying to work out whether A) I could outrun him, which is highly unlikely considering how much I now depend on the bus that ironically led me to be in this scenario and B) Whether or not it was worth calling for help. My Mum once told me that if I ever do get into a situation where I'm in dire need of help that I'm supposed to yell 'fire!', because it taps into that part of the human mind that needs drama and excitement and so people will respond to it; but if you yell 'rape!' or 'help!' no one gives a shit or comes to your assistance. I was always really saddened by this fact, and the amount of human nature that human nature seemed to lack. Then I decided I should make a game of it and try and shout something really obscure to freak out my attacker. I'm trying to think of a word obscure enough to scare off this heifer, when Ben grabs me by my arm. I freeze, like a person who's been caught out for not listening to a conversation, and try to pull away; the sense of how unreal this situation is becoming is taking me by surprise. His grip only tightens. He pulls me out of the shadow of the building and into the bleak moonlight and unnatural warmth of the street lamps. I tug once more, so hard a sound of effort escapes my mouth that's now clenched in fear. When my arm fails to even budge from his hands my thoughts turn to how much this will ruin my parents. To hear that their beautiful- in their eyes, I'd always argued, not in the world's- daughter had been raped and killed in a vicious attack minutes away from a bustling high street. How she had called for, not only 'help' but for some reason 'parsnips', and still no one had come. I imagined my mother tearfully saying 'I told her to shout fire, the stupid girl'. You always here about women being attacked- usually on some dodgy Channel Four documentary called 'Danger on your doorstep'- but I never thought I'd become another statistic. Having said that, it's been a while since any man has even touched me, so it'll probably so me some good. You know you're desperate to find someone when you begin considering rape a plus. But my parents, they'd fall apart. Well screw this; I'm not going down without a fight! I should leave him with some horrific scar so that the police might discover him more easily and arrest him for life. Thinking about it though, my bag holds quite simply; a used lipstick; empty packets of chewing gum; a five week old lottery ticket that has £10 on it and my keys. Not exactly an arsenal. I could used my keys-
“Oh Samantha, I'm so glad I found you-” cooed Ben from the bus as he took hold of my waist, yeah, I could definitely use my keys and just jab them into his face quickly -”I'm so glad I found you-”
I don't understand why he keeps saying that, it's really annoying, “But...you didn't find me. You followed me”
Ben from the bus lets go of my waist and looks confused, “What?” Ooh, time to pull away from him a little, “I followed you?”
“Yeah, you followed me. That's just...there's no effort in that. At all. That's like saying to a pirate-”
“A pirate?”
“-'Oh man, well done finding the treasure on the map someone else drew out for you”, I'm dimly aware of the fact I'm talking about pirates, because in his confusion Ben from the bus has let go of my wrist, too “and you know, that's just not kosher.”
“Sam, what? Are you aware that you're no making any sense?”
Hypocritical bastard!! “Chhyeah, says the guy who waits outside my work, then grabs me, insisting he knows me when he doesn't!!” I'm really pissed off now, and I can see on his face that my new confidence has left him baffled, “You come swanning over, picking on the first innocent girl you-”
He scoffs, interrupting my Joan of Arc style rant, “Ha, innocent? You?”. His tone is too friendly and his smirk too familiar. I turn to run, not wanting to find out what happens next, but he predicts my movements and I end up with a face full of burly chest once more.
I feel my throat tense, and try to force the words out in a cool command, “Seriously, you have to leave me alone. Now. I don't know why you followed me-”
“Ok, what? I didn't follow you, what is wrong with you? Sam, it's me!” His earnest expression halts the scathing comeback I've got prepared and I notice we're a lot closer to the high street that I thought. In fact, there's a homeless guy about 30 feet, probably less, from where we're stood, and this area is so well lit, you'd think it was dusk rather than late evening.
“You... you didn't follow m-”
“No. Why would I follow you?”
“But then, how did you know to wait outside-”
“I honestly didn't know you worked here. I just came in to buy a new jacket”, he motions towards me as if I'm supposed to know what he's talking about, “this afternoon and I saw you on the shop floor, so rather than-”
“A new jacket?”
“Yeah to replace the one I left at yours last week. I figured we wouldn't...”
His explanation becomes a drone as my memory sparks back to life.

There was a club. There was definitely alcohol. Too much alcohol. It was my friends Sarah's 27th birthday, and being the wannabe teens that we are we played drinking games. None of us knew the rules to any of these games, so we just drank constantly. We made our way to the club, but I have no recollection of the journey there or back, only some of the actual club itself. Ben had approached me first, asking if he could buy me a drink; apparently, on the first day of the new bus route, the distraction of my beautiful face had caused him to accidentally sit on the lap of Intense Asian-Guy, rather than the empty seat next to him. By the way, this memory comes partially courtesy of Lindsay; once again, she'd been instructed by Rob not to drink because he 'didn't want to have to deal with it later'. Bastard made a living out of spoiling her fun. But, she was able to fill the, many, gaps in my memory. She told me that I had taken the drink, kissed Ben on the cheek and then run away shrieking as soon as I'd heard the first few everlasting chords of Haddaway's 'What is love?' When Lindsay had approached me about Ben I had slurred into her ear “He'sss like, twice the sssizeofme, Lindz. I think he'd sssnap me in two. Isss it bad that that's turningmeon?” Lindsay, despite being disgusted with me, had helped me find him once again. When we did, it was because we walked straight past him and he'd grabbed hold of my hand, and I remember now that at the time I'd been struck with the force with which he'd gripped me, so much so I had yelled out and pulled away. He had pulled me towards him, apologising, telling me that he 'didn't know his own strength most of the time'. Thinking on my reaction minutes ago, I can only cringe at what my reaction had been then; to throw my arms around his neck and declare in my sexiest (read drunken) voice “Well, maaybe it'sss about time we found out, eeeh?” Lindsay said we had left straight after that and no one heard from me until around 3 in the afternoon the next day. By heard from me I mean received a text begging them to bring me paracetamol and McDonalds.

I should probably start listening to Ben now, he's still talking. I feel ridiculous for my previous reaction, and looking at him again now I can see why I was first attracted to him. I mean, he's a good guy, right? He must've taken care of me that night. He came to meet me outside of work, and he didn't wanna bug me about that jacket, so maybe this means he likes me? We kind of have a cute story we could tell the grandchildren; 'Well, Nana met Grandad at a club when she was off her face. They hooked up, but Nana forgot that, then the next time she thought Grandad was a rapist, but it turns out he was the love of her life!' Well, maybe not the Grandchildren. But this could be the one I've been waiting fo-
“-and you see, the things is, after you threw up on me, then on my jacket, then on my shoes I just figured you wouldn't wanna see me again because you'd be too embarrassed. So I decided rather than ask you about the jacket I thought I'd come in today and buy a new one. You kept insisting on cleaning it, and you even tried to wash it there and then, but when you started walking towards the washing machine with your cat in one hand and washing powder tablets in the other, I realised it was probably time you went to bed.”
Ok, so it's not a Jane Austen classic but you know...it's a start.

xXx

For those wondering, there wasn't a Day Two entry because aside from simlar things like me going to pick up my phone to check Facebook about 3 times, nothing much on the obsession side of things actually occurred.
However, there was a bit of a break through in that i really needed to find out some information that i had previously recieved in a message through facebook- but because i had no access i couldn't re-check the details. So i had to use my phone in order to contact the messenger, who promptly replied and everything was fine. So yeah- perfect proof that there's no need to have facebook. And before anyone says 'Oh, but you got the first message through facebook' yes, that's true; but if i didn't have facebook i would've gotten that message through text, would i have not? See?

Today though? Oh, today more than made up for the lack of obsessive behaviour of yesterday.

So let's start with how Facebook has made a mockery of my subconscious.

I had a little bit of a rough day yesterday, which culminated in a lovely meal with my friends and then all of us getting a little bit slozzled. The more rum i had- at half price due to some wonderful connections with one of the bar staff*- the sadder i got, and before i knew it i was writing half-arsed emo-accented tweets from my phone. It was at this point that for the first time since giving it up i actually was appreciative of the fact i didn't have facebook. because a very embarrassing and depressed/drunken status would've appeared, and although my followers on twitter are used to me being wayward and moany with my emotions, facebook isn't. So that saved me a little bit of face(book. i'm so funny).

Anyhoo, because of aforementioned emotional 'turmoil' i decided i wanted to dream- because whenever i'm a bit upset about something i tend to dream about it and it helps clarify things for me. I have my most vivid dreams after I've woken up too early and then fallen back asleep again, so i set my alarm 2 hours earlier than i had to wake up, to hopefully kick-start some epiphany dreamage. But oh no. My lack of facebook has overpowered my emotions and completely corrupted my subconscious. Because what i ended up dreaming about was me, being able to log into my facebook account and the overwhelming feeling of joy that came with being able to do so. I couldn't believe it when i woke up. emotional clarity?? Naaah, let's just do some stalking. stupid brain.

I have been pretty desperate all day to be able to go onto it. I actually clicked onto the link that appears in my little bar bit at the top of my laptop (yeah, i know technology well good) but of course couldn't log in. I got an email to my kentmail account letting me know that my password had been changed, and because they were unsure as to whether i'd meant to do this or if i'd been hacked they sent an email to all email accounts associated with my facebook. It then provided me with a link, that would allow me to 'regain control' of my facebook account. Fuck me, was i ever tempted. there it was, lying in wait for me to click and and find out how many (none) notifications were lying in wait. But i resisted. I'm not entirely sure how, but i did.

Since then I've been concentrating on work that i've had to do, but after watching The Apprentice (Oh my god oh my god i wont say anything but oh my god) i desperately wanted to go on there to see what everyone else was saying!!!! so annoying. i did get over it though.

So today's been a bit of a 'oh i miss facebook' day, which surprised me. i would've thought by now i would've been a bit lacklustre about it all. but hey ho. tomorrow is another day. tomorrow is actually the first day that i'm going to be at work without facebook access, which made up for most of the boredom issues that come with the job. but it's all kosher- cos i have a lot of reading to do for my course. BOO THE THE MOTHERFING YA.

xXx

*This sounds dirty, but he's just a friend

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID

Thursday, 30 December 2010

Mum

Dad, I can't talk- J-Park 3 is on

Tuesday, 28 December 2010

Pretty Boy

Sunday, 19 December 2010

Piggy Bath Narration

Saturday, 18 December 2010

Bus People

Thursday, 16 December 2010

Amy's Happy Christmas song

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

Facebook: Friend or Foe? Day Three

History of the Past