Time Stands Still

"I boarded the bus and we waved at each other until it became awkward. " -The Liar page 51 "Our Story Begins" by Tobias Wolff 
      My jacket had caught on the armrest of the seat across the aisle and 4 rows up, and as my hand absentmindedly flapped in the general direction of my mother, I lowered my eyes to survey the damage below the windowsill.  The seam had ripped open, making my sad, old jacket even more forlorn.  I slipped it off and over my respectable pants that were already lounging on the seat next to me.  With my dirty sneakers and generic t-shirt I looked like a regular charity case.  I could already smell the ham sandwich of the woman who would sit by me, ready to listen to the boy she saw in front of her.  And who was I to take that story she would want so much to hear from her? 
      She was in her early 40s, visiting her brother and nephews.  The sister-in-law that she had always hated had finally left him.  Her brother was devastated and consequently not looking after his sons properly, the older one, in high school, taking advantage of the lack of supervision and spending all the time that he wasn’t taking care of his much younger brother out of the house with friends.  After a few weeks, their father had finally woken up to this fact and called his sister for help.  Ready to angelically take over their home with a firm hand, she was putting herself in the sympathetic mindset and would be eager to mother me and any other unfortunate children that came across here path before she reached her destination.  
      I’d tell her that my father had died when I was 7, but he had left my mother moments before she was going to tell him she was pregnant.  She would cluck about the bravery of single mothers, disapproving inside and poorly hiding the fact.  He’d died in a car accident, eliciting more sympathy, until I’d reveal that he was drunk at the time and a pregnant woman in the other car was injured.  Here I’d begin to lose her, the story being too tragic and her empathy would soon become confused, leading her to reach towards her knitting needles.  I would have to switch over to my mother.  
      Mom will have run off with a boyfriend, leaving me at a friends house.  This would be a story she knew well for she had run over it many times in her mind while praying for her nephews.  I was taking the bus to meet her, my fare paid for by my friends parents.  The boyfriend had left her, but she’d found a job despite her unreliable resume and her boss had offered us a place to stay.  I’d taper off there, letting her make small remarks she thought could actually help a boy as messed up as I pretended to be and then share her own story (beginning of course, “You know, I have a nephew just about your age.”). 
      A loud cough startled me from my reverie, making my hand fall as all my attention focused on the noise.  A man was standing in the aisle, demanding the seat that my feet were so comfortable in.  He was probably 25, a business man who believed his life to be perfect and wanted nothing to do with those less important than himself.  In his hand is a large packet of papers and a pen.  There will be no story to tell him.  It’s probably for the best, I’ll at least leave mother’s sight before lying again.  Reminded of her, I looked out again, raising my hand, only to find her rummaging through her purse.