The first man watches his ants trot by, while the second man stares up at the blank sky. He runs his fingers through his fair hair. The first man straightens and folds his arms, checking up and down the quiet street. He gets the 114 everyday, and it's usually pretty on time. He wonders whether there was an accident, or that maybe it broke down. Then a thought struck him.
"Hey, how come I've never seen you on the 114?"
"Oh?" The second man turns his head to look at the other. "Oh, I don't know actually." He frowns. "I always catch this bus."
"Hmh," they look at each other, puzzled. "I always catch this bus too. But.. I don't think I've ever seen you on it before." The first man says. The second man nods.
"Neither have I," he pauses. "What.. what date is it?" The second man asks.
"Oh, it's the 11th of February."
"Yeah," he frowns. "Year?"
"1987," the second man widens his eyes in disbelief. "Hey, are you ok?" The first asks.
"It's.. uh.." the second man takes a deep breath, collecting his racing thoughts. "It's 1998."
"Are you kidding?" The first man asks, scepticism heavy in his voice.
"No," The second says flatly. He wonders what this means. "Are you?"
"No." The first says, shaking his head slightly, looking dazed.
"Hey." The second man says, concerned. He puts a hand on his companion's shoulder, squeezing slightly. The first man looks up, meeting the second's steady gaze. They look into each other's eyes, one pair hazel, the other a stormy blue. The first man can see the truthful sincerity in the second man's eyes. He isn't joking. The insufferable heat, the angry flies, the marching ants, the empty sky, all is forgotten. There is only the two of them, standing inches apart. They can feel the other's breath on their face, their presence, their solidity. They are both there, at that little bus stop, under the empty sky. They are both so convincingly real. They are both present in that little bus stop, waiting for the 114. Waiting for a bus that will never come.
The first man reaches out a hand. The second man takes his off the first's shoulder. Their palms meet. Their fingers interlace. They hold onto each other, their touch comforting, grounding.
"I don't think the bus is coming." The second man says, grinning. The first laughs, realising that his companion has dimples. He hadn't noticed them before.
"No, I don't think it will." He replies. They turn so that their bodies face the road. The first man looks down, finding reassurance in the steady marching of the ants, coming from nowhere and going to nowhere. The second man looks up at the sky, finding solace in its emptiness, like a blue canvas waiting for something to be painted on its face.
The pair stand in silence, coming to terms with their unique situation. They stand like this, fingers interlaced, each deep in his own thoughts and musings for exactly 2 minutes and 37 seconds before the first man's impatient foot starts tapping against the cracked pavement.
"Well." The second man states, running his free hand through his hair. He doesn't do this because he is overly concerned about his appearance. Rather, that it is a habit that he probably should break, else he go bald.
"Well." The first man repeats. They both retreat back into thought.
"Do you have a favourite cafe?" The second man asks, turning to look at the first, who looks up, meeting the second man's firm hazel gaze.
"Do you think they'll be open?" The first asks.
"Well, I guess we'll have to find out."
"Yeah, we will."
"And, if they aren't and no one's around... we could always make our own." The first man laughs.
"Breaking in?"
"Sure!" The second man says, perhaps slightly too eagerly.
"Well, I've never made a coffee before."
"I'll just have to teach you then. I worked as a barista for four years."
"Did you now?"
"Yeah. What's your usual order?"
"I'm a latte man myself."
"Hm, wouldn't have picked you out as a latte man."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well what's your usual order?"
"Can you guess."
"Hmm, no, I feel like you could order anything." The second man laughs softly, his dimples appearing. The first smiles at the familiarity he has found in those dimples.
"Espresso."
"Somehow doesn't surprise me."
They laugh.
"Shall we?" The second man asks.
"Absolutely. I feel like we might be here a while."
That thought that they don't know where exactly they are, or what exactly is going on, or how exactly they got here, somehow doesn't scare either man. Perhaps if they were here, where ever 'here' is, alone, it would be different. But could they ever be 'here' alone? Would they ever realise? Neither man truly knows, or will ever know the what or where or why or how. But each does know that they have found reassurance and relief in the presence of the other.
They part hands briefly, so that the first man can collect his bag and jacket. He opens his bag, shoving the jacket inside. The second man stands patiently, gazing fondly down at his companion. "What's in the bag?" He asks. The first man looks up.
"Mainly maps." He replies, smiling.
"Could have guessed," The second man says, laughing lightly. He extends a hand. The first man slips his free hand into the firm and comforting grasp of the second's, allowing himself to be pulled to standing. "Shall we?" The second asks, gesturing to the street with his free hand.
Leaving the small bus stop, the pair step out of the minimal shade into the harsh glare of the sun. They walk away, hand in hand, towards the familiar, distant buildings they know as shops. As they walk, the second broaches a question.
"When are we?" He says, pausing thoughtfully. "What shops will be there? Will there be people?" He stops walking. The first turns to face the second.
"We'll just have to find out." He says with a small smile, giving the second's hand a comforting squeeze. The second smiles, his dimples showing.
"Ok."
