The Bus Stop

By Kelly Esparza

It’s a blisteringly hot day in sunny Los Angeles.

A young woman in her mid-twenties takes a seat on a holey bench with blue-chipped paint at a bus stop. The heat burns her thighs, making her wince and shift in her seat. Her calves hug her duffel bag and push it underneath the bench. Now, she doesn’t normally take the bus. Her sister is supposed to pick her up from LAX, but her work meeting runs late.

“Don’t worry about it,” the young woman says, when her sister calls to explain the situation. “I’ll just take the bus and meet you outside your office building.”

“Thank you so much for understanding. I’ll make it up to you. I promise!” her sister exclaims.

Just as the young woman finishes her call, a young man in his late twenties strolls to this same bus stop, wearing a dark business suit and a navy-blue tie. Today had been a hard day at work; he had to lay people off, one of the many things he’s hated about his job. Setting down his brown leather briefcase, with a soft sigh, he sits on the opposite end of the same bench. He notices a beautiful woman with long, auburn hair. Her eyes are a dark blue like a starless night sky. Now, the young man takes the bus every day and never has he once seen the woman next to him.

The young woman feels a pair of eyes on her and turns, making brief eye contact with the young man. His eyes are a deep brown, and his hair is a jet-black color, where he has scruff to match. She nods a hello and turns back. She waves a hand by her face, fanning herself.

“It’s cruel,” the young man says. The young woman turns and tilts her head. Is he talking to her? “The heat,” he adds.

She nods and gestures to him. “Yes, it is. You must be dying in that dark suit,” she replies. She’s thankful that she’d decided to wear a pale pink floral blouse and white jean shorts today. She sympathizes with the young man. A dark-colored suit with long sleeves and pants seems awful on a hot day such as today.

He chuckles and says, “I’m sweating like a pig.” The young woman lets out a small laugh.

The two strangers introduce themselves and engage in timeless and light-hearted conversation. The young woman tells him she’s from San Francisco and how she works at a small indie publisher. She says she’s visiting her sister for the week. The young man says he’s lived in L.A. all his life but how he’s always wanted to take a trip to Northern California someday. He tells her he works at a bank but that he writes poetry in his spare time. Each conversation leads into another one, and each makes the other chuckle here and there. They talk about their mundane lives and then about random thoughts that pop in their minds. The two strangers quickly become more like acquaintances. They chat as casually as though they had been friends all their lives. Soon, the young woman feels enlightened by her new companion, and the young man’s sour mood melts into a relaxed one.

Having felt like the two were playing twenty questions, the young woman becomes silent for a moment, thinking. Then she glances at the young man and abruptly asks, “What’s love like?” She’s seen those old, black-and-white romance movies—the ones that make her swoon over the male lead and the ones that make her heart flutter at the thought of a meet cute. She’s read those cheesy romance novels—the ones that allow her to escape to new worlds and the ones in which she’s daydreamed about being the main character.

Now, the young man doesn’t know how to respond. Up until this point, they had asked each other random questions, such as, “Do you enjoy reading?” or “If you had all the money in the world, where would you go?” or “What are your hopes and dreams?” But this question seems to stump him. He glances at her and notices she isn’t looking at him directly—no, her gaze seems to be somewhere behind him. He turns a little and sees an elderly couple holding hands. The old man pecks the old woman’s cheek and whispers something in her ear, which makes her throw her head back, laughing.

The young man turns back to give the young woman his full attention. He opens his mouth, only to close it. He tries again. Not knowing exactly how to answer, he follows up with a question: “Have you never been in love?”

She’s looking at him now as she shakes her head in response. “I’ve always wanted a love like they have,” she says, almost a whisper, tilting her head toward the old couple. Her eyes glaze over, like she’s daydreaming, and the young man can see stars in her dark blue eyes.

Now, the young man is awfully surprised. His deep brown eyes widen. Here is this young woman—kind, smart, beautiful inside and out—and she’s never been in love?

The young man clears his throat and shifts in his seat on that bench at the bus stop. He bites the inside of his cheek softly, thinking about her question again. He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I’m sure love is…everything,” he responds, “but you see, I wouldn’t know because…I’ve never been in love.” Now, it’s the young woman’s turn to be surprised. She raises an eyebrow.

And it’s right at this moment when the young woman and the young man’s eyes meet. Even though neither of them usually believe in fate, they wonder if it has brought them together and if this is how all love stories begin. They see the same galaxy of hope and the possibilities of what can be.

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Kelly Esparza is an editor and writer who holds a BA in English and a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona. Her writing can be found in Micromance Magazine, Prosetrics, and others. She is the editor-in-chief for FLARE Magazine, a literary journal dedicated to publishing stories and poems about chronic illness, disabilities, and mental health written by those who experience these things for themselves. Her YA romantic short story, “Destiny Says,” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Find out more on her website, and follow her on Twitter and Bluesky.