The double decker squealed to a stop at the Brighton Community Pharmacy stop. Sofia grabbed her black sling bag with one hand – the oversized leather bag filled with flowers, still crisp despite their four-stop journey so far. Daylilies. He loved Daylilies. With her other hand, she grabs the arm of her three-year-old daughter Lulu. Hoisting her up onto the steps, she slides her citySAVER card toward the driver and then pushes her way up the stairs to the top of the bus. Lulu likes the view and will be more manageable up there.
The seats are filled with students from Uni, all chattering away in bright cheer, sometimes raising their voices slightly, with decorum, to call another rider a few seats ahead. Sofia urgently scans for a seat, to get themselves settled before the bus accelerates their leave.
One seat remains empty, and she dumps herself into it, dragging Lulu onto her lap, pushing the bag with flowers to her side. They are pressed up against a large older gentleman who smiles wanly at Lulu and then turns toward the window.
Balancing her wriggling toddler precariously on her lap, Sofia fishes her cell phone out of her bag and scrolls to her history. Hove Cemetery. She pushes the link and squints at the transit map that pops onto the cracked screen of her iPhone. She looks up at the map along the Double Deckers ceiling.
“Lulu, I’m not sure.”
“Huh?” responds her daughter, the binky wedged firmly in her mouth precluding any more detailed response.
“Nothing, darling” she brushes the child’s hair from her eyes.
Sofia stares at the back of the student seated in front of her. Or at least she imagines it’s a student. Purple streaked, black hair, lays in greasy strands against his – her? – shoulders. A series of silver studs, crosses, and star designs peg along the young mans ear lobe, leading to a staccato of tattoo stars down his neck. Woven into the strands of hair are small shells and bits of leaves, bark and flowers.
The smell of weed wafts off him, like a cologne. He is talking into earbuds, detailing a story of his night out, the music, the warehouse. He gives danger vibes, her skin crawls and she leans back to make more distance.
Her phone rings. DAD, the screen alerts her. She sighs and pushes ‘Slide to Answer’.
“Hi Papa” she says calmly.
“Ciao bella. Where are you?”
Sofia hesitates. “I’m on a bus.”
“With Lulu?”
“Yes…”
“Where are you going.”
Sofias’ chest tightens and her throat closes. With no response her father tries again.
“Sof, where are you on the bus to?”
Finally, “The cemetery.”
Sofia notices a shift in the student in front of her, his head tilts slightly to the left, the sun glinting off his earring.
Her fathers voice melts through her earpiece “Amore, why.”
Sofia doesn’t answer. Instead, she asks “Papa, I am on the Brighton bus to Hove Cemetery, eastbound, is this the right one?”
The student adjusts his seat, raising himself slightly, and landing in a more comfortable position, turning farther toward the window. The person next to him notices and moves slightly left to make more room. Sofia turns her head to the side, attempting to protect her conversation, pressing her ear toward her shoulder.
“Sof, I think that is correct but darling, why? Why are you going and why are you taking Lulu with you? Why now? It’s too soon.”
His words stab at her. Sofia’s skin begins to tingle, she can feel a flush rise in her face. She grips Lulu more tightly around the waist and the child squeaks in dispute. Sofia releases her grip slightly. She breathes.
“Papa, stop.” It is all she manages to get out before she feels the tears slide, leaving wet trails of regret on her makeup-less skin. Her breath heaves and her nose tingles its warning of a deluge on the rise. She drops her head, avoiding her daughter’s startled face.
“Sof, I will leave now. I will meet you there.”
“No, don’t!” she shouts, vaguely aware of heads turning toward her in unison.
The student in front of her is now fully turned toward her. She presses the red ‘End Call’ on her screen, drops her phone into her lap and presses her face into her daughter’s head.
A minute passes, maybe two, five, ten. She loses track of time and space, her grief gently rocking her away from the present. Drifting, drifting, the noise of the bus becomes scant.
She is aware of pressure on her arm, growing stronger. She is pulled back into the cracked plastic seat, the smell of her daughters shampoo, the sound of the buses air brakes. Sofia opens her eyes.
Uni student is fully turned now, his arm reaching over the seat back, holding firm to her shoulder, pressing her down, down, down into the seat, into her grief. She looks up into soft brown eyes.
“Hey”
His voice is surprisingly tender. She didn’t see his mouth move when he spoke. He reaches for her hand, and she lets him take it. She feels safe.
***
Sofia sits on the bench at the Brighton Community Pharmacy stop. She looks at her wristwatch – 10:37AM. Surrounded by strangers, all waiting for transport to another destination, she tilts her head back to receive the warmth of the late October sun, struggling to stay relevant in the face of the coming winter.
With her eyes closed, she hears the busses air brakes slide to a stop just north of where she sits. She sighs and heaves herself up off the bench, her body signaling every one of the 78 yrs. of life it has traversed.
The bus is crowded, but a young man in a Hawes and Curtis dark navy-blue suit rises and offers her his seat, with a slow languid gesture of his hand. She flops into it, leaning back, enjoying the momentary comfort. Seated below now, she thinks to herself. The stairs to the top are beyond her ability to navigate at this advanced age.
The bus rumbles off and she is lulled into a stupor from the rocking and jostling of its journey. Only slightly aware of the stops it is making, she is startled to consciousness by a voice.
“Mamma?”
Her eyes struggle to focus. She gazes intently at the body hovering over her, then sits upright, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins “Lulu!”
“Mamma, you were sleeping.” Her daughter’s bright smile surrounds her now.
“Darling, I am a tired old woman.” Sofia laughs and shifts in her seat, sitting more upright. She tries to scoot over to make room for Lulu, but her daughter stops her and shakes her head “I’ll stand, I’m fine.” Lulu’s hand grabs the back of Sofia’s seat, and she glances at her daughter’s delicate, manicured fingers. She grips her own hands into two tight balls, concealing the ragged cuticles, and gnarled joints that are her commemoration of a life spent kneading dough and pounding chicken filets into submission.
The bus lurches to a stop, Sofia keening forward abruptly. Lulu places a guide arm before her, without effort, then puts her hand gentle along Sofia’s elbow. “Come on Mamma, this is it.”
Where once she stepped off this bus in grief, she steps off in love.
The Hove Cemetery stop is empty, save for one lone figure, leaning stoically against a tree beyond the bus shelter. He raises a hand and gives a curt wave, drops his cigarette to the ground crushing it with the heel of his Doc Martin, then saunters toward them. His hair is still shoulder length but now peppered with grey instead of purple. The trail of tattoos down his neck has gathered more designs, creating an almost seamless length of black inked skin. Where the earrings once were, are now nothing but small pearls of scarred skin.
Louis.
Sofia smiles gently at him through moist eyes. Her heart grips unto itself, as she recalls the very moment he saved her from her despair, guiding her off the very same bus they just disembarked from more than 30 years ago, and gently leading her toward her destination – Sebastians grave.
“Hello, love.” he says, his voice the same gentle lilt that first soothed her that spring morning. He reaches for her hand and draws her in, the comfortable smell of his leather jacket lowering her heart rate to calm.
“Hey, you” Lulu says brightly, her smile reflecting in Louis’ own response
“My chipper! How are you?” He releases Sofia and lunges for Lulu, who laughs and swats at him.
“No flowers?” he asks the ladies.
“We have a service now” Lulu begins to explain, but Sofia touches her arm gently.
“A service? Whoa, fancy.” Louis mocks kiddingly. He puts out his arm and Sofia gently wraps hers into it. Together, they walk the familiar path, through evergreens and past English roses, their summer bloom long past. The quiet wraps around them like a well-worn coat.
“I do look forward to this every year.” Sofia muses as they amble along the cobbled sidewalk to where Sebastian awaits.