In Transit

When I get off the plane, I'm exhausted. It's been a hell of a long day, having gotten up in the wee hours of the morning to prepare for the long trip home, and then spending literally hours in various lines at the airport before finally spending almost eight hours on the plane itself.

And I'm still not done. After waiting another hour at the airport, I'm finally getting on the bus that will take me the rest of the way home, a couple of hours away from here. I'm so close, and I'm so tired. I absolutely cannot wait to get home and into my own bed. I swear I'm going to sleep for at least 12 hours straight.

I groan when I step onto the bus. It's packed. I'm the last to get on, and at first, there doesn't seem to be even one empty seat on this thing, until movement in the very back catches my eye. A man makes brief eye contact, then moves from the outer seat to the window seat. With a sigh, I make my way to the back, stashing my carry on and backpack in the compartment above the seat.

"Thank you," I tell him softly as I sit down next to him, trying to dispel the slight discomfort I feel at sitting next to a stranger when I'm so tired. I'd been hoping to have a seat to myself so I could take a little nap on the way, but I suppose I can wait a little while longer. He gives me a bland smile in return, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before we both turn away, and I settle into my seat.

I'm just getting into the new novel I had just downloaded onto my phone when I hear a shrill voice coming from several seats ahead. "Sean! Sean!"

Whoever she is, she sounds angry.

The man beside me groans, and a glance at him tells me he knows the woman. His head drops forward, and he shakes it, eyes closed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Goddammit," he mutters under his breath.

"Goddammit," she echoes in an irritated voice a moment later. I hear rustling from further up and lean out to take a look up the aisle. A plump, dark-haired woman in what looks like her 40s pushes her way toward the back of the bus, looking pissed off. I immediately sit back in my seat, not wanting to be caught gawking. I get the feeling she would have no qualms about snapping at a stranger.

She comes all the way back and stops right next to me. I deliberately avoid eye-contact and force myself not to cringe away from her, both because I don't want to draw her attention and because I don't want to press closer to the man, who I'm sure is her partner.

"Did you not hear me calling to you?" She asks the man—Sean—angrily.

"Yes, Tricia, but I'm not going to yell across the whole goddamn bus just to talk to you," he says with obvious forced calm, his voice hushed to try to avoid the scene she's apparently trying to make.

"Well, if you'd asked the people behind us to switch seats so we could sit together, I wouldn't have had to yell across the bus," she counters, and a furtive glance up the aisle tells me that the people in question can hear everything she's saying. The 20-something man stares back here incredulously and rolls his eyes when we make eye contact. Another woman, younger-looking but clearly related to Tricia, glances apologetically back towards us from the seat in front of him.

"And I'm not going to ask someone to switch seats when the one back here is perfectly fine for a couple of hours. It's not a big deal." Sounds like he'd be happy to spend the time away from her too. Yikes.

She starts to sputter; I don't even need to look at her to know he's angered her further. He cuts her off before she can say anything though, his voice flat, resigned. "What do you need?"

"Chrissy and I are going to try to get some sleep after that horrid flight, all cramped in together like that. Honestly, Sean, it's beyond me why you couldn't have upgraded our seats—"