Someone you know or a stranger?
I had a nasty fellow in the seat next to me. I hoped he would get off at the next stop, but I had no such luck.
He sat
He was disgusting. His fingernails were long and dirty, and his right-hand pinkie was so long, it curled under. With this, he scratched his uncombed, oily hair, which made me move as far away as possible, hugging the side of the bus.
His clothes were grimy — ragged jeans and a filthy grey hoodie that once must‘ve been red. There were faded pinkish patches here and there. He wore sandals. Mud-coated feet ended in grubby toes, hanging over the front of his sandals.
He had a satchel of sorts. Worn cracked leather with only one strap and buckle working. This he clutched to his chest.
Stop #2 was coming up; surely, this was his stop!
Nope. He sat, and I sat. By now, I was fascinated and wondering how far he was going. I tried to peep at him without moving my head. He noticed and grinned, showing stubby yellowed teeth. A whiff of rancid breath that could kill a snake wafted my way.
I noticed a hair growing out of his ear and something like smoke. As that was impossible, I decided it was a shadow.
Then there was the beard. A scruffy, full beard with pieces of food stuck into it. Something moved. Could there be fleas in that mess?
He unstrapped his satchel and pulled out a sandwich. It looked as if he had dug it out of a trash can. The bread had green mouldy patches, and the filling looked like raw meat. Blood oozed out, dripping into his beard as he bit into it and chewed lustily. He used that pinkie nail to clean his teeth between bites.
With his mouth full, he turned to me. “So,” he said. “What do you do for a living?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued eating.
“I’m a writer,” I said.
“Ah, are you a good one?” He stuck the unwrapped half-eaten sandwich into his satchel and looked at me.
I shrugged “I guess I’m not too bad,” I said, not wanting to enter a conversation with him.
“Not as good as some?” He started laughing and wheezing, and white mucus ran out of his nose. Once again, the back of his hand did duty as a handkerchief. He looked at his hand, brought it to his mouth, and licked it.
I felt my lunch push up in my throat and fought it back. What would happen if I barfed all over him?
This was a nightmare. I considered getting off at the next stop, even if it was miles from home. But it was dark and in a not-so-safe area.
I scuttled back to lean again against the side of the bus. Three more stops came and went, but still he sat.
I missed my stop
Much to my shame, I was so engrossed in this revolting creature that I missed my stop!
We rode the entire route together until we were back at the start of the line.
“Excuse me,” I said as I climbed over him. I’d had enough. I would catch another bus. It would be a longer ride, but I’d be rid of this specter.
And what do you know but it said — “Can I come with you?”
I turned and glared. “No! You’ve made your point. Go and haunt someone else. And thanks, but no thanks for the lesson. Before you attach yourself to another person with the same problem as me, kindly take a bath.”
“Sure, my dear. It’s no problem finding someone. There are plenty of your kind around. I have a full day ahead of me.”
When I got home, I took a hot shower. I swore I would never let that specter ride with me again.
Its name?
Envy.
The demon that sits down next to me when I see other writers succeed, and I’m limping along.
But this I know. Since that specter rode with me, when I think I might be envious, I count my blessings, laugh, and send him off to find somebody needing a lesson.
For where envy and self-seeking exist, confusion and every evil thing are there (James 3:16.NKJV).
The idea of riding on a bus came from something I read by Mark Thibodeau SJ in his book, “God’s Voice Within.”
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Author: Ida Adams
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