That night on the bus (Short Story)

That night on the bus

It was just another day on the nightly bus. My ears were plugged; few people would take the bus at this hour, especially when most of us would rather stay inside in warmth of our comfy abodes than the ferocious winter that took over the lands the past few years ago. No one really knows why the buses still ran, though it's nice to know that the city wasn't entirely dead. Every so often, when days get warmer, but just a tad, the nights come alive again, as if the end of the worlds had turned.

It wasn't unusual to get passengers this late under the fair full moon. Though to have seen someone as young as this boy (or at least for the residents of such suburb, whom few would allow their offspring to take transport 'til they married another), who had stumbled on with nothing but the clothes on his back, caused me to speculate. Because why; beneath the raven cries, would thou ever be out beneath the twinkling spheres in harsh frost? Within the mirror, I notice him take seat towards the front, eyes redder than most rooster feathers sold in jolly July. If you were to squint, you may've noticed the dryness of his face under unruly hair. His clothes: unconventional for such weather, were fashionable to be said. Paired with a bedazzled mask and earrings that sparkle with pearlescent twinkles, it seemed that the child was at a party a while ago.

It was mostly silence. For the first part anyway. The boy huddled in his corner, legs to chin as if the cold finally began to bite. Yet the atmosphere had changed a while back, silence was not the intended surrounding.

'Hey you alright kid?' I called, perhaps a bit too jarring. Uncomfortable air met at my query. I tried asking again, though the boy didn't seem to care to answer. I gave up for a moment then.

***

The snow had been building up for a clock's rotation. Itself were hurried; the crunching of heaped-up ice had grown apparent the more time passed forth. It was eerie still inside the vehicle, yet I hoped the boy would speak.

'Are you okay?' I posed the query again. The boy had stirred from his weary sleep. 'No,' was all I heard him peep. Albeit it was surprising to hear his voice. It was mix of youth and wisdom, yet loneliness cried within.

'You can tell me,' I told him gently. 'I will listen to you whole heartedly.'

His demeanour had changed when those words fled. His shoulders loosened, with his posture relaxed. He turned to face me softly, his gaze widened with intent.

'Promise me that thy won't tell,' he said to me with voice hushed well. I gave him nod for him to talk.

'They kicked me out,' he whispered after a bit. 'My parents kicked me out.' And all of a sudden, the wind began to pick up.

'They aren't normally like this, such as this eve. They're accepting of anything, they even will others to be themselves. Yet, after I came back from pride and they saw me be myself, they freaked. It wasn't like that they didn't know, but now they see it come to fruition.

'I've changed. That would be the simplest way to say, that I'm no boy but person. It's as true to me as I could be, for gender I don't feel like one or another. Yet now, I feel alone, perhaps I had for ages. I'm scared to be who I am, so wish I to be normal like them. Sir, do you know how to fit in?'

The bus now had stopped in its tracks. The road was blocked with heaped leaden snow, impossible to push through with the bus' motors. I felt the despair in the child's voice, the loneliness cried out with every breath drawn by them. 

So, I turned to them, and I shook my head no, to much of their dismay. 'Child, being normal isn't fun. There isn't a way to be 'normal' and be happy. When you live a life, where you hide who you truly are; it's miserable, to put it simply. In fact, normal doesn't really exist I would argue. I wish to you that you stay authentic to yourself.'

'What would others think? Am I a freak, a demon, outsider?'

'Care not what others think, child. You, are in charge of your own wellbeing, and that should be your main priority.'

'So how do I do that?' they asked, worried then.

'Be your true self and not care for others thought. Now, how do you want to be referred?'

It took a while for them to answer. They smiled back then, 

'Alder, Alder Wynn.'

***

As Alder left the shuttle that night, the dawning light of solar rays arose to guide them to their peace. And for the first of 50 summers, the snow began to recede back north. A genuine smile crept to my face as the bus returned on course. Content, I drove towards the dawning sun.