His smell was what attracted me to the dark side of town, a place where the forgotten gathered around to talk about their shattered dreams and unsatisfied hunger. It was his graceful movements that made spying on him worthwhile and interesting, as if some force was shoving his presence into my preoccupied mind. And his eyes, his deep, thoughtful eyes became my green light to follow him, unnoticed. How could a young woman resist such charm? Better yet, how could an attractive man resist me?
My thoughts were temporarily cut off by a sound coming from an alley across the road. I heard a cat screech, followed by a blood-curdling scream. This is what I like about this town, I smiled to myself. It’s never quiet.
Again, my attention shifted back to the existence of the human less than a meter from where I was standing. We were at the bus stop. The man, whom I heard called himself Lucas, was now fiddling for something in his pocket. Keys. Yes, as I remembered from my many nights of espionage, Lucas got off the bus at the first stop, only walking a few blocks to his house. Should I let him know about me? I thought. I felt my blood race in anticipation, for a reason I had yet to find out.
I had to make a decision, and fast. We were approaching the first bus stop.
Stay or go? Stay or go? My mind erupted with this line of thoughts as our ride came to a halt. I saw Lucas jump off the ride. In a few seconds, his shadow was far from sight. I sighed. I’ve never had the courage to confront him, and I probably never will either. I have always been too timid, too shy around people that I even wonder why I ever moved into the busy neighborhood of Bokor. It was a small town, so almost everybody knew one another from childhood and family connections.
It was a year ago when I moved here, and I was fast the talk of the town. They all had the same question in mind: “Why would a beautiful 21-year-old woman move into this desolate town?” I’m not being conceited at all, for I truly am the beauty and pride of my family, having gotten my mother’s good looks and my father’s charm. I have always been at the top of life’s system, and so far, things were still the same. I guess I moved to this place because of my curiosity and fascination of the town’s name.
Bokor is another term for ‘sorcerer’ or someone who has mastered the arts of magic. It’s a mystery as to why a town would be named after a title, and not the person himself. I know a lot of small neighborhoods that have been named after their founder, and it occurred to me very odd for this town to be different. I came to this place set for an adventure and major discoveries.
Now, a year later, I’m still in the cold. I am nowhere near solving this town’s secret, and my hopes are beginning to fade. How long can I last like this? Is it time to return to my true home?
I had no idea where I was.
I was so deep in thought that I didn’t realize my stop pass by. Fearing for the worst, I looked around, seeing only three passengers left. “Excuse me sir,” I whispered to the man sitting opposite me, “Have we passed Iwa Damballagh?” He looked at me with a tired expression and grunted his reply, “It’s passed by three stops, lady. You missed your stop?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Do you think the driver would take me back?”
“Three stops? How long have you lived here? Of course he won’t.”
It was useless speaking to this man, as he seemed pretty tired – and drunk. I decided to talk to the driver himself. Walking on a moving bus was not a good idea, that’s for sure. I felt sick to my stomach by the time I finally got to the front. “Lady, can’t you read the posts? No one’s allowed to stand up while the bus is in motion.”
“I know sir, but I missed my stop and I was hoping –“
“Not a chance. I have a schedule to keep up with and going back will make me late for my next route. Sorry, but you should’ve been paying attention.”
He was right. I should’ve been alert. The only choice I had was to get off the next stop and wait for a bus home.
I didn't know why I chose to get off at such a dark stop.
