The Bucketlist

02| OLD ACQUAINTANCES

The sun never sets on East Fordshire. When I moved to Fordshire, I had not once heard the city sounds dying. The mornings were jingles of car horns, dogs on walks, and school children on their way out. The nights were a complete contrast to the morning, even brighter and lively with street music, local food bars, and a few mobs now and then. The Fordshire air is always brimming with lazy moans of kids whining, or adults complaining about not getting enough of the weekend. That's what big cities do to you; they give you all and leave you wanting more of it.  

The summer morning was rising with its illuminating grandeur as I stepped out of Miss Mason's apartment. Miss Mason's apartment on Fifth Street had the privilege of being closest to the nearest bus stand. That advantage and the fact that old lady Mason never nagged me about late rents were the only two things that kept me from moving out, and there's Romilda too. 

At 8 am, the city bus pulled in. A queue of some six people hopped on in a hurry. I didn't remember public buses being so crowded at this hour, but  who was I to say a thing about the city that rarely slept. A few couples were heading out for work, high school seniors bickered about homework, and there were people like me- Single ass, trying their best to make a little too much money from this labyrinth of a city. The freshly painted white paint gave off wisps of resin scent, and I almost sneezed when another woman nudged me in the elbow.

The woman seated next to me had big doe eyes. Her blue eyes looked like sapphires on my charm bracelet. She chapped her lips with a maroon red lip gloss as the bus honked. Her nose had that straight cut that screamed posh. Amber locks rested on her shoulder, tucked under a French beret. She wore a similar, pitch-black blouse tucked in those dreadful pencil skirts that make you feel like hell wrapped around your legs.

Watching someone rock an outfit; that you'd end up looking like a clown is unnerving! What I wore at the moment was no different except that my hair was all curls, my skin all dusky, and the red of my lipstick was nowhere the eloquent maroon of hers. I looked like a joke next to her. An old, bald man sitting opposite us just approved my thoughts with the look he shot at her. It's one of those looks you give to girls after checking them out and marking them up with ten on ten. 

Do you know what's worse than not being able to look pretty? Never sit next to the incarnation of Aphrodite while you are fretting, looking like an oddball. That's why lotus blooms in mud and roses bloom with thorns. All beautiful things in the world know what would highlight their presence, so they stick around with the ugly and devious to let themselves stand out.

 Something clicked inside me. She could be a co-worker heading for work. Yes. What are the chances! We were heading to the Third Street, she had the work outfit on, and we looked like we worked together, except that she might be the uptown girl that I was always jealous of. Maybe, I could make new friends, and with that idea, I thought of breaking the ice when the bus turned on Fourth Street.

"Hi, I am Eva Mellon. I work at Bexley's." I said, sticking my hand out for a handshake as I balanced my tote bag in my lap.

She said nothing but turned and smiled.

"Hi, Eva. Fancy seeing you here. It's been a long time." She said with her smile growing merry every other moment.

Was I friends with this spitting image of Marilyn Monroe? I could hardly remember anything like that if I were. I could learn a thing or two from her. That works. Like that one time I was nearly failing in French but spending more time with Cadeau earned me a B+ in semis. I could get used to being a bit more beautiful.

"You know my name?" I said with a grin, and she chuckled.

I might be a hypocrite, but pretty girls aren't always rude and bossy. She might be one of those rare breeds. You know, the kind that's dolled up inside out with goodness that adds more meaning to the world? Yeah, that shit.