Guinevere

One of the things thats always intrigued me about writing is that no matter how hard I try a piece of me always ends up in the story. I can write a story about an ice cream truck driver who kills children and then turns them into ice cream, and somehow a part of my own personality will be clear in that character. It's something that I have been trying to prevent for years. With this story I gave up. I allowed my own personality to shape the character, though there are some clear differences, and it was truly a joy to write and to see where it took Arthur. I hope you will enjoy it as well.
-dale

Guinevere

Arthur liked everything about the 125 bus. He liked the hard plastic seats. He liked the cool metal bars. He liked the accordion section in the middle. He especially liked the incredibly confusing timetable that seemed to have no bearing on what time the bus would arrive. He liked the little pieces of graffiti that were drawn on the back right window by an artist calling himself “beanstalk”. Most of all, he liked the girl that always got on the bus two stops after him. More than liked in fact. He did not know her name so he referred to her as Guinevere.

While she was not by any means unattractive, Guinevere was not the prettiest girl Arthur had ever seen. He couldn’t really explain it, but he was completely enamored with her. He didn’t think it was her shiny black hair, or her fair skin. He was pretty sure it wasn’t her light brown eyes or innocently white smile. Though she had a very trim and attractive figure he was relatively positive it wasn’t that either. He could not quite pin down for sure why, but he knew that he loved this girl.

He got on the bus and took the first seat available on the right side. Guinevere generally sat on the left side and Arthur liked to look at her.

At night sometimes he would talk about her to Shelly, his tortoise. He would talk about the short conversations she had with the bus driver or on her cell phone. He would describe the things she wore, and her facial expressions. He would plan out things to say and try to predict her responses. “Conversations are like chess,” he would tell Shelly. “I just need to be three moves ahead, I need to be ready for anything she says.” For her part, Shelly just chewed her lettuce.

He would very often dream about her. These dreams would almost always take place on the bus and they followed a pretty standard formula. Something would go wrong – a passenger would choke and need the Heimlich, for instance – Arthur would save the day and Guinevere would jump lovingly into his arms. Much lovemaking would ensue. Arthur very much enjoyed these dreams.

At the next stop a gaggle of teenage girls got on the bus filling it at once with inane giggling. This woke Arthur out of a very pleasant daydream. He took this opportunity to check his reflection and make sure his curls were falling naturally, especially the curl he called Mr. Cannoli – after the Sicilian delicacy even though it didn’t resemble one at all – that had developed the unfortunate habit of hanging down over the middle of his forehead. He liked his hair, and thought it unfortunate that he would probably go bald when he hit thirty like all the other men in his family.

Guinevere’s stop was only a few minutes away and Arthur was growing increasingly nervous. “What if we arrive early and she isn’t there?” he thought. He looked at his wristwatch, atomic of course, and breathed a sigh of relief upon noticing that they were actually running slightly late. With the bus slowing to a stop, Arthur noticed that there were no open seats.

As Guinevere climbed the staircase the clouds parted and sunlight poured in through the windshield giving her an angelic glow. She said hello to the bus driver, handed him the money and wished him a good day. After taking a few steps she realized that there were no seats and stopped directly in front of Arthur. She grabbed hold of the cold metal rail as the bus began to move again.

“Give her your seat.” Arthur’s brain implored him. “Stand up, get her attention and offer her your seat.” His brain continued. But, Arthur was all nerves, and all his nerves said no.

It was not a particularly long ride and Arthur knew this was a great opportunity, so he tried to gather all his mettle.

He tried thinking about all the brave things he had ever done. He thought about the time in third grade when told Debbie Pinsky that she had very pretty hair. He thought about the time in high-school when he confronted his friend Jimmy Connors about cheating on his trigonometry test. He thought about the time at his first job when he demanded a raise. Unfortunately, he then thought about Debbie Pinsky laughing at him, Jimmy Connors beating him up and the fact that he was on his way home from a different job.

The bus had gone three stops already and there was very little time remaining.

"What could possibly go wrong?" his brain pleaded with him. "What's the worst thing that could possibly happen?" This line of questioning was a mistake because at that moment Arthur began to imagine things that could go wrong and eventually reached the worst of them. He was now terrified of even the possibility of standing up.

"If you don't do this, you'll regret it for the rest of your life," his brain screamed at him. "You'll never forgive yourself." He knew this was true, but was still unable to gather the courage to approach her.

The bus stopped and Guinevere looked down at him. She was positively radiant. She said something to Arthur, but he couldn’t make out the words. "Isn't this your stop?" she repeated to Arthur. He looked outside and was shocked to realize he had almost missed his stop. As he stumbled out of his seat and towards the door up he tried to thank her, but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter, all he managed to do was cough a little bit.

He scurried off the bus and ran towards his apartment building. She knew his stop! He couldn't wait to tell Shelly.