Nowhere In Particular // H.S.

One: A Bump in the Road

It's a bump in the road that wakes me.

A bump in the road is what shakes my body, sparks my mind and jolts me from my mindless slumber. A bump in the road is what changes my life.

The first thing I remember is the flickering of the light at the front of the bus. It's quickly turning off and on, over and over again, unable to make up its mind if it wants to continue its sad life of struggling to fulfil its only purpose of brightening the five feet wide space. The bus smells of cigarette smoke, BO and beef jerky. I pull my shirt up to my nose, hoping to block out the awful stench with the scent of lavender that lingers on the familiar fabric.

The second thing I remember is denim. Denim that's soft and worn. Denim that's pulled tight, that's fraying at the knee where a hole has been ripped, denim that's darker than the night sky outside.

Denim that's pressed against my cheek.

Wiping at my mouth, attempting to rid of the slobber that has collected from lying on my side, I turn to look up.

Above me is a boy. A boy whose legs have served as my pillow for the last few hours. A boy I do not know.

His arms are crossed in front of his chest. His forearm muscles strain slightly, tanned, showing obvious signs of hard work over the years. I watch his chest rise up and down with each sleepy breath he takes. He's slumped over, bending his neck in a surely uncomfortable way but nevertheless sleeps, letting out a quiet snore every few seconds.

I recognize the boy. It'd be impossible not to. From the moment he stepped onto this bus I could tell he was like someone you read about in a story. He was one of those people who leave an impact on every person he comes within twenty feet of. He is beautiful and he doesn't even need to try.

His green eyes were the first thing that caught my attention when he walked up the small steps to this stuffy bus. He got on at the Roseburg stop. Twelve people got off the bus, hitting their final destination and he was one of five to join the rest of us on our trip to wherever it is we are going. He sat in the seat in front of mine, on the opposite side of the walkway. I watched him as he hauled his duffle bag to the compartment above his head. His t-shirt lifted up, exposing the bottom of his stomach where I admired black ink for longer than I should have. He didn't catch me but he did smile my way before sitting in his own chair.

I smiled back briefly, although embarrassed that I had stared as long as I did. Instead of letting myself sulk in it however, I turned my head to the window and pushed the side button of my iPod, turning up the volume as loud as it would go. Somewhere between Radiohead's Fake Plastic Trees and the sun setting over the farms to my right, I fell asleep.

A bump in the road is what wakes me.

I stare at the boy above me, blinking as I rub my tired eyes. He looks peaceful as the glow of the flickering light illuminates his face. Peaceful, yet I find myself wondering when he got here. Before I fell into my dreamless sleep he was still sitting in that seat across the walkway in front of me, now my head lies in his lap.

If I was thinking straight I would know to move my head. I should sit up because surely it isn't acceptable to rest in a stranger's lap, no matter how beautiful that stranger is. I can't seem to do it though. All can do is tilt my head up to look at him better and brush my hair to the side while I lie here comfortably.

Denim rubs against the back of my neck as the bus rattles back and forth, shaking my legs that rest against the cushioned seat below me. His dark curly hair falls in front of his face with the motion, partially covering his closed eyes that I've been admiring for the last five minutes. I can't help but feel disappointed for a moment.

A bump in the road is what wakes him, a different bump than mine.

His eyes open quickly, not giving me a chance to move from his legs that have been used as a pillow for who knows how long. While his eyes open, and flutter with the realization of being awake, mine grow wide, nervous of what he might think of a strange girl lying in his lap.

"Hi there, sleeping beauty," he speaks slowly, his voice sounding gravelly and deep.

I try to tell myself to move, to get my heavy head off his lap. I'm yelling at myself on the inside Greta, pull yourself together and stop invading this boys personal space, but I don't budge. No matter how much I try to convince myself to.

He senses my worry, responding quickly before I can carry on the argument inside my mind. "No," he sighs out, moving his hand to the side of my head, brushing his fingers through my hair. "You can stay," he smiles, continuing to rub his fingertips against my scalp. "It's okay."

I know this should concern me. This boy, whose name I do not know, no matter how beautiful he is should know that touching someone the way he is touching me is not acceptable of a bus relationship that has consisted of a mere smile. I should feel uncomfortable with the look of affection in his eyes as he looks down at me, the warmth I feel as his fingers gently tangle in my hair. But I don't. I don't feel anything close to uncomfortable.

For the first time in my nineteen years of existence I feel wanted. Not wanted in the way that Greg Sullen stared at me when I went to that party with Laurel in tenth grade. Not wanted in the way my mom looks when she wants me to watch Blair so she can go out to the casino with her book club. I feel wanted in a way where I can tell this boy above me is feeling a little lost, just like me, and maybe all he needs is a friend... or a girl, with too much hair and dull eyes to lie in his lap.

I nod, not saying anything in response to his own tired voice, and close my eyes. I forget about the fact that he moved seats to be next to me. I forget about the hand that rests on my forehead, pushing back my hair and how his thumb rubs against my skin. I close my eyes, only for a moment, to appreciate what might be happening.

I knew the moment that I stepped onto that first bus, desperate to get away, that I would be forever changing my life. Now, resting my head on this stranger's lap while his hand runs through my hair I realize that it might not be as bad as I thought.

Hey guys! For those of you who have read Grey Street hello again, for those who haven't thanks for stopping by (you should read Grey Street too). I wanted to give you this little bit of the story. This first part is short but I promise the rest of the chapters will be nice and long (similar to Grey Street).

I am so so so so excited about this one. I would like to give a warning of slow-ish updates. I haven't written very much of this yet and I'm a bit slow at writing sometimes (plus I have to be a semi-responible adult) but I'll try to update at least once every two weeks. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think...