life's rain // bruno mars

chapter six

chapter six

It was almost eight-thirty in the morning when I met Bruno at the bus stop. He was leaning against the bus stop's metal sign, having an early smoke. When he caught sight of me he let the cigarette fall through his fingers and stepped on it. He always did that, even when I told him he didn't have to. “Here,” he said, handing me a donut wrapped in paper, our skin grazing against each others for the smallest second. “It tastes like shit.” 

“You're shit.” I took it from him, examining the pastry while he corrected me. “No. I'm the shit.” 

I took a bite from it, the taste of sweet glaze and soft bread filling my mouth. “What's wrong with it?”

He shot me a smile. “I just wanted to buy you breakfast.”

“It's food. I would have gladly accepted. What were you doing smoking so early anyway?” Bruno actually smoked very rarely, and when he did, it was usually to find relief from the thoughts he couldn't escape. “What's bothering you?”

He sighed. “Life.”

“Me too.”

“So damn broke.” The bus stopped in front us, its doors spreading wide open. “Tired of taking the bus. Tired of being unheard.”

I followed behind him as we climbed the stairs and paid the bus driver. Bruno was now always running low on gas money especially since his brother was suspended from his job, and Stephanie took morning classes so that meant no car for me. The bus was pretty full, so I grabbed on to a pole and Bruno stood in front of me, holding the strap above him. “Well I think the bus is fun.” I tapped on the pole. “Seems like home to me, if you know what I mean.”

He laughed. “I know exactly what you mean, and this is coming from a pro.”

“Teach me your  ways.” 

He winked. “I got you,” he said, before lapsing into silence. I caught a glimpse of the man in the alley; the insouciant shadow. My lame jokes momentarily made him forget about the everyday challenges he seemed to face, but now, I knew, they were back to lingering in his mind. We stayed in silence as the bus ventured to Riverside Drive. But before we got there, I told him quietly, “One day, the only time you'd be riding a bus is when you go on tour.”

The corner of his mouth hitched up, and his eyes were dancing, and I knew he was grateful.

Incidentally, Bruno and Phil's music studio was just a walking distance away from the pawn shop. So every morning when we stepped off the bus we joined Phil who would be waiting for us. This was our routine for weeks now. That night Bruno asked—if you want to call it a question—me out, the date never happened. It was because I found him at my bus stop the next morning. Phil knows this guy who let's us use his studio now he had told me, and our bus rides have become our dates ever since then. We weren't even dating actually, what grew between us was an immense amount of friendship that he and I could profoundly use at this moment of time in our inescapable sorry lives.

“Hey Baldie,” I greeted Phil. He was looking down at his phone, a messenger bag over his shoulder. Even though he wore a hat, I still liked to tease him about his marble head. “Lena,” he nodded his head at me, pocketing his phone. “Watch when I grow dread-locks. Then you'll have nothing to say.”

I laughed. “Call me when the first hair comes in.”

“Ready to write the greatest song ever?” Bruno asked Phil with enthusiam, his mood before dead and gone. “When am I not?” Phil replied, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. The bag usually contained lyrics and music notes.