A motel guest, perhaps?
Nope.
She waits at the bus stop, soon joined by two others.
Within minutes, the red bus I saw earlier appears at the end of the street.
Looming large, it pulls to the curb.
Brisbane, says the neon sign in its window.
Sitting beneath a tree, my eyes remain glued to the stairwell.
The first passenger embarks.
I so badly want to get on that bus.
The driver has his back turned, shuffling through the paperwork.
Make a run for it, I dare myself.Go now, before he sees you.
Bolting across the foot path, I crawl into the open luggage compartment.
Arranging the bags around my body, I curl tight into a ball.
It’s dark and suffocating.
What if I have a panic attack when the door locks?
What if nobody can hear me?
“Oi! Get out of there!” booms a voice.
Someone must have been watching from the window.
They’ve alerted the driver.
A wrist grips my ankle.
Bugger.
My shoe was sticking out.
“Piss off before I call the cops!”
I slink into the shadows, cheeks burning with shame.
Desperation claws at me, anxiety surging in my chest.
From behind a tree, I watch the bus depart.
???
By nightfall, my nerves have peaked.
I’m so anxious that I puke my chips and fizzy drink all over the grass.
So much for making every bite of food last.
