Post by idiotj on Jul 1, 2007 19:12:50 GMT -5
It was slightly after 4:00 in the morning, a time no one wanted to awake at if they could help it. Briefly, Alice wondered if busses even ran at this ungodly hour and who would be taking one. She took a seat on the bench. Glancing nervously around (which is a perfectly normal thing to do, Alice thought, since I'm a young girl alone at a peculiar hour.), Alice realized there was someone else there--a girl in a fedora, engrossed in a newspaper. As soon as Alice regained some of her composure, pulled herself together, stopped tapping her bad and smoothing her dress nervously, she decided to help herself to a single-serving friend.
"So," she said, involuntarily beginning to drum her fingers against her purse again. "Been keeping up with the news?" Smiles and happiness and eye contact, communication.
It took the other girl a while to respond, look up, glance around and determine someone was talking to her. She looked at the stranger with wide, confused eyes, blinked rapidly and slipped her fingers underneath her glasses to rub her eyes.
"Oh, me? I don't usually read the news," the girl admitted, airily, staring at Alice as though trying to place her. "But now I have an interest in it--my friend was killed by a serial murderer."
Mentally smacking herself, Alice stared dejectedly at her feet. Her hair fell over her face. "I'm sorry," she muttered, remembering why one should never talk to strangers.
"Oh, no, it's OK," and Alice could hear the girl folding the paper up, and there was a change in her tone that indicated that she wanted to talk. Alice looked up, pushing the hair out of her face. The redness and puffiness in her eyes were starting to go down. It should have, after all, for Alice had stopped crying hours ago. "My definitions of words--like my political ideologies--tend to be liberal. I knew the person and she talked to me, and I always had the feeling she would be killed. Always thought it would be suicide, though..." she pondered, leaning forward and considering her acquaintance's fate.
The tears were coming again, suddenly, without prompt or warning, and Alice had to look at her feet, had to let her hair obscure her eyes. Not that it did any good; quiet sniffling and slightly shaking shoulders gave away the fact that she was crying.
"You OK?" The girl asked, her eyes narrowing as she examined Alice with curiosity.
"Yeah. It's just...my grandfather just died." Alice said, running her hand over her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"'ts OK. It's nothing. I'm just being silly."
"It's not silly to be upset that someone died,"
"It's not that--we weren't even close and I jusst--I'm here--it tore me apart and we weren't even close--and I don't know what I'm doing--or why---and oh! I don't know." After one long, shuddering breath, Alice stopped crying, and smiled sheepishly at the stranger. "Falling apart in front of strangers at a bus stop."
"I guess you're a bit embarassed about your mood swings, then?"
"Yeah," Alice laughed. "Yeah. And now I'm running off--"
"Trying to find yourself?" The girl ventured. She had read a popular young adult novel about a teenage girl whose parents died so she had taken off, ran around the country.
"Do you want to be a shrink or something?" Alice asked politely, beaming.
"No. A crimonologist. Study serial killers."
"Oh. You like serial killers?" Smile. Conversational tone. Eye contact.
"No," the girl said, coldly. "I'm interested in them."
Alice's smile fell and her eyes softened. It was obvious that she had touched a nerve. "Oh. Right. That's. That's what I meant."
"When the hell is the bus going to get here?" The girl asked, checking her watch. "What's your name?"
Alice hadn't noticed the change in topic. It had happened in the same breath.
"Oh. Um. Alice Wilde."
"Oh. In that case, my name is Dorothy Salinger."
Alice, her heart beating faster with paranoia creeping up on her again, glared at the girl. "My name really is Alice," she said, darkly.
"Sorry. My name is Jenna. Now, where the hell is the bus?"
"So," she said, involuntarily beginning to drum her fingers against her purse again. "Been keeping up with the news?" Smiles and happiness and eye contact, communication.
It took the other girl a while to respond, look up, glance around and determine someone was talking to her. She looked at the stranger with wide, confused eyes, blinked rapidly and slipped her fingers underneath her glasses to rub her eyes.
"Oh, me? I don't usually read the news," the girl admitted, airily, staring at Alice as though trying to place her. "But now I have an interest in it--my friend was killed by a serial murderer."
Mentally smacking herself, Alice stared dejectedly at her feet. Her hair fell over her face. "I'm sorry," she muttered, remembering why one should never talk to strangers.
"Oh, no, it's OK," and Alice could hear the girl folding the paper up, and there was a change in her tone that indicated that she wanted to talk. Alice looked up, pushing the hair out of her face. The redness and puffiness in her eyes were starting to go down. It should have, after all, for Alice had stopped crying hours ago. "My definitions of words--like my political ideologies--tend to be liberal. I knew the person and she talked to me, and I always had the feeling she would be killed. Always thought it would be suicide, though..." she pondered, leaning forward and considering her acquaintance's fate.
The tears were coming again, suddenly, without prompt or warning, and Alice had to look at her feet, had to let her hair obscure her eyes. Not that it did any good; quiet sniffling and slightly shaking shoulders gave away the fact that she was crying.
"You OK?" The girl asked, her eyes narrowing as she examined Alice with curiosity.
"Yeah. It's just...my grandfather just died." Alice said, running her hand over her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"'ts OK. It's nothing. I'm just being silly."
"It's not silly to be upset that someone died,"
"It's not that--we weren't even close and I jusst--I'm here--it tore me apart and we weren't even close--and I don't know what I'm doing--or why---and oh! I don't know." After one long, shuddering breath, Alice stopped crying, and smiled sheepishly at the stranger. "Falling apart in front of strangers at a bus stop."
"I guess you're a bit embarassed about your mood swings, then?"
"Yeah," Alice laughed. "Yeah. And now I'm running off--"
"Trying to find yourself?" The girl ventured. She had read a popular young adult novel about a teenage girl whose parents died so she had taken off, ran around the country.
"Do you want to be a shrink or something?" Alice asked politely, beaming.
"No. A crimonologist. Study serial killers."
"Oh. You like serial killers?" Smile. Conversational tone. Eye contact.
"No," the girl said, coldly. "I'm interested in them."
Alice's smile fell and her eyes softened. It was obvious that she had touched a nerve. "Oh. Right. That's. That's what I meant."
"When the hell is the bus going to get here?" The girl asked, checking her watch. "What's your name?"
Alice hadn't noticed the change in topic. It had happened in the same breath.
"Oh. Um. Alice Wilde."
"Oh. In that case, my name is Dorothy Salinger."
Alice, her heart beating faster with paranoia creeping up on her again, glared at the girl. "My name really is Alice," she said, darkly.
"Sorry. My name is Jenna. Now, where the hell is the bus?"