Crushed Leaf

Whenever I see him, a wave of emotion comes over me. A tangled feeling, like homesickness, like nervousness. Like something important to you is long gone. I have to stop where I am, to gather my feelings, and diminish him. To try to push him out. But I find myself straining my neck forwards, trying to see him before he fades back into the crowd. He glows like the sun, and disappears into the group of bustling people, going behind the clouds. He’s gone.
Look down at my feet. Little black shoes with flat bottoms against the cold cement. A few leaves rattle as they blow past me, and one settles in front of me. Bite my lip, and move my foot, grind the brittle leaf against the cement. Watch the fragile crackling form tear. I bite my lip harder, my face going into anguish. Why do I feel like the leaf inside? I can feel the cold sharp cement, as someone drags me across it with a harsh foot. I feel it inside me whenever I see him.
Stare at the leaf longer, carefully removing my foot and stepping back. Looked at the naked veins, crushed, the brittle stem, the chipped skin. Wipe that look off my face, try as hard as I can. I pull my face into a little frown, lower my eyebrows, force my lips to stay in a straight line. Lick cracked lips, but still continue to bite down on them.
Try to laugh. Try, try. Cross your eyes, start up a fire inside your frozen self. He’s gone. He’s gone. I can’t run up to him, I can’t say hello, I can’t I can’t I can’t. Stop feeling for him. He’s nothing. Nothing... But such a lie to me, lying to myself. The half-smile drops back down. Have to distract myself. I nervously turn my feet inward and outward, and tilt back on my heels. Want to fall. If I could lean back and fall, tumble backwards, with my skirt reaching upward and hair rushing after it, I would. I would fall right now, hit the hard cement. Knock myself back into this world. If I had the courage to... It’s always if I had the courage to. If I had the courage to. If I had the courage to apologize, I would. I would... If I had the courage to fall, I would. Sometimes you don’t have a choice. Like this. I don’t have the choice to roll out from under the foot that’s grinding me against the ground. I can’t even if I try.

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Put fingers against cool glass. Stare at my pale fingers, crimson nails. I remove them and stiffly turn forwards, surveying the bus with my eyes. Look at the people. So many stories, so many words, so many thoughts, so many feelings. I glance up towards the driver, calmly driving, good with his job. Maybe he had a bad a day today? Maybe he had to deal with rowdy passengers who refused to pay? You wouldn’t know. You never can know. The faces you glance at, as you pass person after person, they fade away like everyone else. Only the occasional one will ever be there again.
I see the landmark for my stop, and pull down on the cord above the window. A little ring and the red letters forming ‘Stop’ fade into view. I shake my head, shaking out of the foggy doze, and lift my purse strap to my shoulder, letting it hang there. I always bring a little extra money, so I can buy something to bring up my mood. A bouquet of bright flowers, a few chocolates, a stuffed animal. I can only take care of myself, these days. I can’t assume someone else will. I can’t hope the kind lady will give me a free rose, or that someone will look up and smile at me, like I’m not just another one they’re passing up. I can’t hope for that.
Step lightly from the seat, grasping the bar to my left for balance as the bus slowly comes to a halt. The door opens, and I carefully slide out from the row of seats into the aisle. I’m the only one getting off at this stop. I step briskly forward towards the front, trying not to brush against backpacks, large coats, and trying not to trip over sticking out feet. I take the change from my coat, dropping it into the slot. The machine makes a sound like moving gears as it takes the money. I give a little nod to the bus driver before hopping off the bus.