Jaxton leaned with his shoulder and burst through the doors, which gave way with a cracking squeak. There was a flurry of gasps from the riders. A few of them took out their phones and recorded as Jaxton tried to storm his way down the aisle towards where Devon sat. Another alarm went up from the bus:
“ATTENTION—NON-STANDARD ENTRY DETECTED. PLEASE SCAN BUS PASS AND PANDEMIC PREVENTION CODE. ATTENTION—”
Some of the riders closer to the driver’s side covered their ears to stifle out the terrible grating alarm. Why did it have to be so loud?
“Will someone shut that damn thing off?”
“It’s an automated system, yelling isn’t going to fix anything!”
“YOU’RE A FUCKING AUTOMATED SYSTEM!”
“Oy…so early, all this shouting is…that’s what I get for taking the bus.”
Noise upon shouting upon noise. The bus driver pawed at a few buttons at the control panel and managed to shut off the alarms and the announcements, but the passengers were now in a thoroughly soured mood. Meanwhile, middle-aged woman continued to put herself in front of Jaxton, barring his way.
“You can’t—you can’t just—just wait a minute!”
“Do not impede my movement.” Jaxton’s face was an unsettling visage hidden beneath a thin smearing of calm. His voice took on odd, simulated tones of authority, as though he were channeling the spirit of a traffic cop. Worst of all was his face: a thin veneer of politeness plastered over frothing, screaming rage. Devon’s skin crawled as Jaxton tried to push past the middle-aged woman who continued to block his way. “I have the right to walk forward. Do not impede me.”
“I will not,” the middle-aged woman said. “You have to get off the bus right now.”
Jaxton’s eyes flashed. “Do not impede my movement. I have the right to walk forward.”
The bus driver turned to Jaxton. “Sir, please scan your bus pass and pandemic prevention code.”
“I will. Just relax,” Jaxton said. “First, I need just need to—“
“No—no! What part of ‘you are not getting on this bus! ’do you not understand?! I was at the bus stop—I saw you and your friends teasing that young man. You are not carrying your nonsense on this bus!”
Jaxton froze for a moment, staring off into nothing for a few painfully long moments, his eyes burning a hole into nothing. Devon couldn’t help but snort. With just a few words, this lady did what he’d been trying to do for what felt like hours.
Suddenly, Jaxton snapped to action and pushed his way towards the back of the bus
“What are you—hey! Ow! What is your—“
Jaxton grabbed the middle aged woman and pushed her down. Some of the riders cried out and recoiled in shock.
Devon, who’d been sitting quiet and trying to avoid Jaxton’s furious glare, leapt up. Enough was enough. He shot up from his chair and marched towards Jaxton.
Jaxton sneered and went to speak. He wasn’t able to finish as Devon reared back a leg and, like a firefighter breaking in a burning door, kicked Jaxton square in the stomach.
Jaxton doubled over, dropping his phone, squealing and wheezing, unable to catch his breath. Devon went over to the middle aged woman and helped her up, leading her back to his seat.
“Ma’am, you OK?”
The middle aged woman nodded, trembling, unable to speak. She held up her hands to steady herself, but even her hands shook.
Meanwhile, on the floor of the bus, Jaxton gasped and choked, gripping his stomach. A trail of saliva dripped from his mouth.
“Assault… see? He did it! That was assault!”
But he wasn’t able to finish his sentence before Devon lifted Jaxton up by his shirt and dragged him out towards bus entrance.
“—hands off me! Get your hands off me!” squealed Jaxton. He grabbed at Devon’s face, clawing and scratching, forcing Devon to let go. In the instant that Devon dropped him, Jaxton took a wild swing at Devon’s face. The riders gasped.
THUNK
His punch missed and landed hard on a jutting metal section of the bus above the window . Jaxton gripped his hand, screaming.
“You broke my hand! screeched Jaxton, howling in pain.
Devon grabbed Jaxton by the poof of his hair and dragged him out of the bus while Jaxton hollered and twisted—while still gripping his shattered hand. With maybe a bit more force than was necessary, Devon chucked Jaxton out of the bus and onto the sidewalk.
He turned to the driver and shouted.
“Go, man! Just go! Just go, please!”
The driver restarted the bus’s self-driving systems. With sloth-slowness, the bus dragged itself from the station, leaving Jaxton behind. As they did, Jaxton pulled himself up from the sidewalk, a glaring of pure hatred burning in his eyes. Just before the bus turned a corner, Devon saw Jaxton fish out his phone from his pocket and snap a picture. “Guess his hand was fine after all,” Devon said. Adrenaline rushed from his body, and Devon suddenly felt exhausted. His legs shook, and he had an odd craving for ice cream—nothing fancy, just a simple ice cream with some chocolate coating. Even one of the fake ones would do. Sadly, there wouldn’t be any ice cream chances for a good few hours. He made he was back to his seat, his duffel bag jammed into the footrest space. Next to him sat the middle-aged woman dabbing at her face with a wet washcloth that filled the seats with an overpowering scent of lemon sherbet. “My goodness,” began the middle-aged lady. “That is definitely going
Devon sniffed and wiped at his nose. “Sorry,” he said. “Allergies, I think.” “Mm-hmm. ‘Allergies’.” Carla pulled out a few tissues from her bag. “Very convenient that you men get allergies when you talk about your feelings.” She smiled knowingly. “Now look, whatever’s going on with you and your family ain’t gonna get solved in the span of one bus ride—ooh, and speaking of which, my stop is coming up soon. Here’s what I want you to do—add my contact info, and if you ever find yourself in trouble or you need someone to talk to, I want you to add me, understand?” Devon smiled. “Yes, Ma’am.” “Oh, don’t call me that!” Carla gave Devon a gentle slap on the arm. “I’ll be your auntie from now on—and I’m serious. You find yourself in trouble, you give me a holler, you hear me?” “I will Miss Carla… I mean Auntie.” They exchanged contact info with a scan of their QR codes. Devon looked at Carla’s profile photo—it was of her in smart-looking business attire, her arms crossed, and a great, co
Neveah sat alone in the kitchen. Momma had gone to her room, leaving everything behind—the bills, her phone, her daughter… Now Momma was taking a nap using the sleeping aid of her choice. Because of course she was. For the past hour, Neveah sat at the kitchen table flipping through her phone, not really looking at anything. Her thoughts played the morning’s events again and again. The doctors called it “rumination”. Over and over, Neveah rehearsed and re-chewed the day like a cow and its cud—the partially digested food that a cow vomits up so it can chew and digest it again. In this way Neveah brought up Devon’s fight with Momma… the incident with the hat… Devon storming out… her mother snapping at her… her prayer for Devon to come home… Neveah flicked through her phone like a Buddhist priest with his prayer beads, flicking and flicking in a kind of dark meditation. Unlike the priest, Neveah’s meditations led not to the peace of emptiness, but the chaotic noise of thoughts that
After a few moments, Devon’s phone buzzed. The front of the message read: MOMMA.He clicked open the phone. There was a message from Momma. The message was clear. He clicked shut the phone. “You gave brought shame and ‘disrespct’…” he mouthed the word, pronouncing it like ‘diss-ree-speck.’ He leaned back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut. “My god, Neveah…someone ought to teach you how to spell.”Clearly it was Neveah’s work. Momma, the educated woman that she, never used slang or mistyped. Ever. All it took was a simple comparison of Momma’s older messages to see the difference. She may have given up on her own children’s slang, but Momma stood firm against that linguistic tide. Did Neveah not notice how her own mother wrote? Did she not care?Key in this was the “u”—that was a young person’s affectation. Devon even used it sometimes. Neveah used it constantly. But Momma? Never. Putting the two texts together only made it more obvious.MOMMA: Love you always Devon-Devilcake
Last stop—New Hudson Convention Center.The bus crawled over to the bus station and, hissing, the bus’s tired deflated. It sounded to Devon like a dragon’s mighty fart after returning to its cave after a long day of pillaging and burning villages. Hoisting up his bag and, after giving it a brief once-over to make sure everything was zipped and secured tight, Devon debarked from the bus. As he left, the driver looked up from his magazine.“Nice hat,” the driver said with a thumbs up.“Thanks,” Devon smiled. But the driver had already returned to his magazine before he could respond.Devon left the bus. What greeted him was a scene of colorful chaos.The Convention Center looked like an enormous blue doughnut, rising
It was Lanie. Picture a butterfly. Imagine drawing a thread in time from the day it was a caterpillar, and follow that thread backwards and forwards. Somewhere in the middle of that journey, the caterpillar would have entered its cocoon and become something entirely different. But her voice…the way her eyes were just a little too far apart…and the Cookie Cat phone-case. It was Lanie. There was no mistaking it. Devon stood mouth agape, barely having the energy to stammer. This person had laid dormant of his mind for years, only popping up on rare occasions he delved into his own childhood. Now, twice in one day, she had come back into his life; first in his thoughts and now before his eyes. And she had not just returned—she had transformed. Her blonde hair was now dyed jet black. Her oversized front teeth now fit neatly behind a mouth that was lightly tinted in professional, fashionable color. She was the very image of consummate professionalism, no longer the dirt-caked playmat
They squared up. Devon was taller than Marc, but not by much. Marc glowered at Devon until, inexplicably, he started laughing.“I’m sorry. I just can’t take you seriously with that hat. Holy crap, what am I thinking?” Marc wiped away something from the corner of his eye. Devon felt heat rush to his cheeks.“Whatever, man.”“Look, Hunter Green, the both of us have stuff to do if we want to run your stupid freak show. Quite frankly, I’m not about to ruin my day over this so…yeah.” Marc smirked. Devon raised an eyebrow. “Run what? What are you talking about?”Snickering and shaking his head, Marc reached into his suit’s breast pocket and pulled ou a name card. He handed it to Devon with a little flip, barely able to contain his glee. Reluctantly, Devon took the card. Reading it over, Devon’s face deflated. Marc AbramovNew Hudson Convention Center Hospitality Executive Guest Services Manager “You, uh, work for the hotel,” Devon said weakly. “Uh, yeah, we do,” Marc said, mocking him
“That’s right,” Marc said. “Just need to make a call and it’ll be done—whole weekend, free hotel, so long as you can keep from breaking anything getting freak-fluids on my floors.”Lanie tugged at Marc’s sleeve. “Marc, stop it. Why are you doing this?”“Well, he’s your friend, isn’t he? Feels like the least I could do. Besides, from the looks of him, I think he could use a hand up right now. Isn’t that right, Hunter Green?”Devon found it hard to look at Marc. His gaze seemed to be drawn to the floor. He did need that money. Practically speaking, he was about to be homeless at the end of the week with nothing but the clothes on his bag and whatever he had thrown into his bag. Those few hundred bucks could go a long way getting him started on his ‘new life’. But the way that Marc sneered. The way he lorded and gloated—his every expression made Devon want to crawl into a hole. Yet here he was, with money on the table—and practically speaking, he wasn’t in a position to refuse. “… I-uh