Sunday guaranteed that there would not be as many people in the bus station as there would be on weekdays, but there were still many of them waiting on the terminals when Thomas arrived. He found Felix on Terminal C, wearing his trademark dark clothes, in stark contrast to his day-glow white skin. He waved a greeting, and Thomas walked in his general direction, taking a seat next to him, the other benches empty. This wasn’t the bus line with too many commuters- the 12 bus only came once every two hours, and for now they were alone in that spot.
“Thomas, got your notebook?”
“Yeah. I’m going to use it, I guess. I’ve never had to before. I never really think about these people after I finish my observations, but it’s relaxing to do.”
“Sounds like it. Do you have a monthly bus pass? I can’t really come here on weekends with nothing to do but watch people. I don’t have that kind of money. My mom would talk about how the bus used to be $2.75 when she was younger, and now it’s a whole seven bucks. “
“Seven bucks is relative. Yeah, I have a bus pass. One of my friends has a bunch of them, I buy him booze and he buys me bus passes. I go around all day.”
“Where do you get booze? ID's have chips in them now.”
“I have a college friend who I do essays for. He has his ways.”
“Man. You must be really smart to be able to do essays for a college kid.”
“Not really.”
An old woman in Terminal B tripped and fell as the bus drove at the stop, to be helped by what appeared to be an Arabic or Indian boy- Thomas was never good at identifying. The elderly woman was giving him a derisive look and quickly shook off her hand as she got to her feet.
Felix whispered, “That woman there. Maybe she lost a son in the Iraqi war.”
Thomas looked at her sadly, and lowered his voice as well. “She’s wearing old tennis shoes. She doesn’t have a car, or someone to drive her. Maybe her son is dead, or all grown up and neglecting her.”
“Maybe she has more than one son,” the other continued. “Maybe she was raised a racist.”
“Everyone’s raised a racist, one way or another,” Thomas replied.
“What about the Indian kid?”
“He’s dressed in Neo Retro. That’s really trendy. ‘It’s the future, let’s dress like what old people thought was the future’ - they always look so dumb.”
“Everyone who’s rich and artsy in my school dresses Neo Retro. They’re always going, ‘Felix, you untrendy bastard.’ and I have to look them in the eye and say I have no money to pretend to be a character from a sci fi novel.”
“It’s like Halloween every day, but three times as stupid. Maybe that Indian kid just wants to fit in.”
“No one tricks or treats anymore anyway.”
“They’re all afraid of being killed, Felix.”
“Death isn’t really that scary.”
Thomas watched the old lady board the bus, and sighed. “Death isn’t that scary when you’re young, because you think you’re immortal. Try telling that to an old person.”
“I don’t think I’m immortal at all, but we both heal quicker than regular people. Do you sometimes wonder if we are though?”
“You mean, immortal? That’s kind of weird.”
“Valiant Co. People already have longevity pills from them, who knows.”
They sat for a while in silence, and Thomas wrote down the old woman’s appearance, her cherry blossom shawl and the tennis shoes. Then he saw something that caught her eye, a young woman about their age, at the far end of the bus station, with strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes, in a seafoam green summer dress.
Felix froze.
“Nelo.”
Thomas looked at the girl, then back at his friend. “Nelo?”
But Felix had already rose from his seat and began running past Terminal C and B, skipping over the barrier fences, and almost getting hit by the number 40 bus, the screaming people and honking clearly not present in his mind. Thomas could hear him shout, imploringly, urgently, and felt the worst kind of sorrow.
“NELO! NELO! DON’T GET ON THAT BUS NELO! WHY THE FUCK HAVEN’T YOU CALLED ME? YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST SAID FUCK YOU AND GOODBYE! WHAT HAVE I EVEN DONE TO YOU?!!! TELL ME!!! NELO, PLEASE!!!!”
She got on the bus, avoiding his glance, and Felix slammed against the bus door as it closed, the bus driver securely shutting the entrance. He ran in front of the bus, spreading his arms out wide, the honking noise getting louder. They were going to call security, and Thomas, in a panic, ran after him, pushing him out of the bus’s way.
Felix was crying. Thomas, still gripping his arms, shook him gently.
“We have to leave. I’ll get my friend Matt to drive you home, he lives close by.”
No response. Thomas dragged Felix along, and he could feel no resistance. He reached for his cell phone.
“Matt? It’s Tom. Can you pick me and my friend Felix up from the bus station? What? You have an essay due tonight? I’ll do it, Just pick us up. We’ll be across the street by the barber shop. Alright, I owe you, thanks.”
Felix was still crying. Thomas let go of his hand.
“Who’s Nelo?”
“Some bitch.”
“Oh... are you gonna be alright?”
“I guess, I don’t know.”
They waited in silence, and Matt drove in a sleek black car, bleach blond hair with black roots.
“Hey Tom, I’ll email you my essay. Um, is your friend alright?”
“He’s fine.”
They went into the seats together, and Felix lowered his head, covering his face.
“Where to?”
“Kennedy Park, near that apartment complex with the yellow bricks.”
“Alright.”
The ride was in silence. Thomas watched the car window to avoid Felix’s face, eyes lost in the buzzing trees. Matt was never a good driver.
“We’re here. It’s only 10:30, you’ll have plenty of time to do my essay. It’s no sweat, just a summary thing.”
“Sure, will do. Thanks.”
He drove away. Felix was no longer in tears.
“Thomas, thanks. I owe you.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, it is a big deal. You’re a really good friend, and I barely know you.”
“You’ll get to know me.”
“That’s true. I’m glad.”
“Take it easy, ok Felix?”
“I’ll try. You want to come inside my house for a bit? Maybe eat lunch? My mom’s boyfriend and her are out... somewhere doing stuff and they’ll probably be out till late into the night.”
“Sure. You can read me more of your Pelago story.”
“Yeah, that would be cool. I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s great.”
“Thanks again... for not being a prick.”
Awkward laughter.
“I try.”
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