A Foreign Affair
Give it a chance.
"Oh, for pete’s sake, Grams, I’m fine!" Samantha gasped. "College really isn’t that bad. It’s nothing like you think it is."
"Are you sure?" Karen’s raspy voice said on the other end of the cell phone. "Because I remember what it was like for me. I swear they turned me into a nervous, coffee-addicted, sweat-basket!"
Sam rolled her eyes. Like anything has changed, she thought.
"I just want to make sure that you’re having a good time."
"I’m ok. My classes are great, the apartment’s nice, I think I might even have a boyfriend," she said, wishing like hell that her grandma would just give up already and say goodbye.
"Really?" a squeak replied, causing Sam to pull the phone away from her ear. "Oh well tell me all about him! What’s his name? Where’s he from? How tall is he? Are his eyes blue? You know, your grandfather had blue eyes, and they were the most amazi—"
"Grams! Ok, I know. You’ve told me this story already. But look, I gotta go. School’s about to start and I still need to shower—"
"Well but you haven’t even told me his name!" Karen whined.
Sam sighed. She knew she was in for it. "His name is Brad," she lied "And I’m going to be late. I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?"
As she hung up the phone, Sam sighed. It was wrong for her to make up that lie about having a boyfriend, but her grandma was fanatical. She believed that life was going good only when you had a man in your life. Sam used to argue about Karen's late husband, and that if it truly were the case, Karen would be married again, but Karen claimed that her case was different. Break-ups and death were two very different things.
Shaking her head, she glanced down at the time on her cell phone, and nearly choked on her own breath. She’d better hurry if she wanted to catch the city bus.
* * *
The bad thing about the city bus, there were a lot of weird, sometimes even mean people. The kind of people who wouldn’t give up their seat, even if a pregnant woman who looked like she was ready to blow up any second was standing right in front of them.
Fortunately, Sam liked to stand. The bus was made up of two cars, divided in the center by two sliding doors and an accordion-like extension. Each car had two doors, one in the front, and one in the back. Standing by the back door of the second car, it was easier for Sam to see her stop coming up. It also make it easier for her to jump off and not have to deal with the passengers who were boarding. People left her alone, allowing her to listen to her iPod in peace.
But this particular day proved to be somewhat difficult. Two stops after she had been picked up, the bus pulled to the corner.
As the bus nearly lurched to a stop, Sam peered out the window. Nearly a dozed people were waiting to get on at her car. There were two men dressed in business suits, both of them talking furiously into their cell phones, gripping their briefcases to their sides and glancing frantically at their expensive watches. Lawyers, Sam thought grinning. A woman stood with her bike, scowling at the flat tire as she began to mount it onto the bike racks on the side of the bus. Sam silently wondered if the bus had ever driven off with someone’s bike before the rider had a chance to take it off. And of course there was the cliché of the elderly woman clutching a large paper bag full of groceries after a long morning at the supermarket.
But it wasn’t these passengers that held Sam’s attention for long. A group of men in their early twenties caught her eye. There were five of them, all big, all dressed in leather, and all looking as if they were ready to stalk trouble into a dark alley somewhere.
And they were standing at her door.
Sam spun around to face the front of the bus, not even realizing she was pressing against the person next to her until he looked down and scowled at her. Smiling apologetically, she moved away, but was continually aware when she felt rather than heard the men standing behind her. The bus was filled to the max now, and it was impossible for her to stand anywhere else.
"That was the worst steak that bitch has ever made," one of the voices bellowed over the music of her iPod. A very distinct smell of barbecue and garlic wafted around her nose. "Next time, I’ll tell her to shove it up her ass and make it myself."
His voice was husky, scratchy, like he had been chain smoking for many years. Once the thought entered her mind, she was certain she caught a whiff of stale cigarettes clinging to the five men behind her.
The others chuckled loudly at the first man’s comment, seeming to practically drown out the music coming from her pink earbuds. The bus pulled over, and several people stepped off. There was more room now, and Sam stepped forward, cranking up her music, desperate to get away from the group’s overpowering smell.
Though the iPod was at max volume, Sam was still able to hear the men’s voices, though they were muffled. She caught such words as "whore" and "bitch" and a few others that she wished she’d soon forget.
The bus pulled over once again, and several more passengers disembarked. When the elderly woman with her shopping bag scowled at the men over her shoulder, Sam wondered just how many passengers were actually getting off at their stops.
Suddenly the music on her iPod stopped, and Sam was left with the sounds of the five men laughing in her ears. Frantically, she looked down at the handheld device, silently begging it to find some unknown power source to play again. She was so desperate for it to turn back on that she forgot to hang on to the ceiling rail, and when the bus lurched forward, Sam was thrown backward, right into the group of men standing behind her.
"Are you sure?" Karen’s raspy voice said on the other end of the cell phone. "Because I remember what it was like for me. I swear they turned me into a nervous, coffee-addicted, sweat-basket!"
Sam rolled her eyes. Like anything has changed, she thought.
"I just want to make sure that you’re having a good time."
"I’m ok. My classes are great, the apartment’s nice, I think I might even have a boyfriend," she said, wishing like hell that her grandma would just give up already and say goodbye.
"Really?" a squeak replied, causing Sam to pull the phone away from her ear. "Oh well tell me all about him! What’s his name? Where’s he from? How tall is he? Are his eyes blue? You know, your grandfather had blue eyes, and they were the most amazi—"
"Grams! Ok, I know. You’ve told me this story already. But look, I gotta go. School’s about to start and I still need to shower—"
"Well but you haven’t even told me his name!" Karen whined.
Sam sighed. She knew she was in for it. "His name is Brad," she lied "And I’m going to be late. I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?"
As she hung up the phone, Sam sighed. It was wrong for her to make up that lie about having a boyfriend, but her grandma was fanatical. She believed that life was going good only when you had a man in your life. Sam used to argue about Karen's late husband, and that if it truly were the case, Karen would be married again, but Karen claimed that her case was different. Break-ups and death were two very different things.
Shaking her head, she glanced down at the time on her cell phone, and nearly choked on her own breath. She’d better hurry if she wanted to catch the city bus.
* * *
The bad thing about the city bus, there were a lot of weird, sometimes even mean people. The kind of people who wouldn’t give up their seat, even if a pregnant woman who looked like she was ready to blow up any second was standing right in front of them.
Fortunately, Sam liked to stand. The bus was made up of two cars, divided in the center by two sliding doors and an accordion-like extension. Each car had two doors, one in the front, and one in the back. Standing by the back door of the second car, it was easier for Sam to see her stop coming up. It also make it easier for her to jump off and not have to deal with the passengers who were boarding. People left her alone, allowing her to listen to her iPod in peace.
But this particular day proved to be somewhat difficult. Two stops after she had been picked up, the bus pulled to the corner.
As the bus nearly lurched to a stop, Sam peered out the window. Nearly a dozed people were waiting to get on at her car. There were two men dressed in business suits, both of them talking furiously into their cell phones, gripping their briefcases to their sides and glancing frantically at their expensive watches. Lawyers, Sam thought grinning. A woman stood with her bike, scowling at the flat tire as she began to mount it onto the bike racks on the side of the bus. Sam silently wondered if the bus had ever driven off with someone’s bike before the rider had a chance to take it off. And of course there was the cliché of the elderly woman clutching a large paper bag full of groceries after a long morning at the supermarket.
But it wasn’t these passengers that held Sam’s attention for long. A group of men in their early twenties caught her eye. There were five of them, all big, all dressed in leather, and all looking as if they were ready to stalk trouble into a dark alley somewhere.
And they were standing at her door.
Sam spun around to face the front of the bus, not even realizing she was pressing against the person next to her until he looked down and scowled at her. Smiling apologetically, she moved away, but was continually aware when she felt rather than heard the men standing behind her. The bus was filled to the max now, and it was impossible for her to stand anywhere else.
"That was the worst steak that bitch has ever made," one of the voices bellowed over the music of her iPod. A very distinct smell of barbecue and garlic wafted around her nose. "Next time, I’ll tell her to shove it up her ass and make it myself."
His voice was husky, scratchy, like he had been chain smoking for many years. Once the thought entered her mind, she was certain she caught a whiff of stale cigarettes clinging to the five men behind her.
The others chuckled loudly at the first man’s comment, seeming to practically drown out the music coming from her pink earbuds. The bus pulled over, and several people stepped off. There was more room now, and Sam stepped forward, cranking up her music, desperate to get away from the group’s overpowering smell.
Though the iPod was at max volume, Sam was still able to hear the men’s voices, though they were muffled. She caught such words as "whore" and "bitch" and a few others that she wished she’d soon forget.
The bus pulled over once again, and several more passengers disembarked. When the elderly woman with her shopping bag scowled at the men over her shoulder, Sam wondered just how many passengers were actually getting off at their stops.
Suddenly the music on her iPod stopped, and Sam was left with the sounds of the five men laughing in her ears. Frantically, she looked down at the handheld device, silently begging it to find some unknown power source to play again. She was so desperate for it to turn back on that she forgot to hang on to the ceiling rail, and when the bus lurched forward, Sam was thrown backward, right into the group of men standing behind her.
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