Someone Gets Hit By a Bus

This is a short comedic story told by the perspective of the protagonist, Dylan. Dylan describes a turbulent day in his life, and the story is split off into different sections.

Narrated by our Protagonist, Antagonist, Apologist, etc. Dylan

 

Part 1 �" Prelude

            On a cold, September night, in the blacked-out streets of Chicago, Martin stands on the sidewalk by the side of the road. He’s somewhat oblivious to the world around him. Carried away by the sound of bona fide Dad-rock on his headphones, he allows Paul McCartney to descend upon the scene around him, as the track “Band on the Run” settles into his ears. Martin turns around, and his eyes widen his surprise. He takes a few steps backwards, a bus horn blares, and his body is thrown fourth into the darkness of the night. A crowd rushes out to the street; chaos has ensued. The sight of death brings about that unanswered question in the minds of our scattered pedestrians, “Does life have meaning?” The world’s response, “Who cares?”

 

Part 2 �" Dylan Blows It

            I’ll never forget the moment it happened. I had gone on a date with Alyssa the day before the incident. We met on the bus, and from the second I saw her, I knew I liked her. She was tall, with olive skin and brown eyes. Straight from Milan, she spoke in an Italian accent. If one spent enough time listening to it, one would hear the secrets of the Roman Empire cloaked in sonorous syllables. We exchanged numbers, and soon enough, I asked her on a date. The first date had gone smoothly; we had dinner at an Italian restaurant, and spoke of the things that moved us. Our eyes constantly locked, and we quivered in the anticipation that romance may indeed blossom from this encounter. At the end of our meal, I summoned up a courage I didn’t know I had, and asked her on a second date. Without the slightest hesitation, she answered in a resounding yes. Angels blared their trumpets from the heavens, stars aligned in immaculate formations, and although I was born in the gutter, I finally got my glimpse of the stars. We went on our second date the next day, deciding to go to the Shed Aquarium. We spent most of our time in conversation, talking of the things we loved, hated, and everything in between. After our day at the aquarium, we headed to Union Station in Chicago. She commuted into the city from a town nearby, Northbrook, and needed to take a train home. As we were walking towards the station, we made plans to hangout the following Friday. While I waited with her by the platform in the station, I felt a perpetual nervousness creeping through me, and enveloping me in fear. Alyssa, on the other hand, appeared slightly detached, and possibly anxious to get away (although whether or not she wanted to leave at that point in time remains unsolved). The juxtaposition of a nervous wreck and someone seemingly made of stone was apparent to all who witnessed it, and in retrospect, was comedy defined. Once the train arrived, I commenced the dialogue that led to the death of any possible future between us.

            “It looks like your train is here.”

            “It seems it is.” So far, so good.

            “Well, it was a pleasure seeing you again.”

            “Definitely! It was fun.”

            “I’ll miss you.”

            Yes, my friends, I permit you to cringe with me. It all fell apart in three words. The whole world seemed a weight upon my shoulders which would never let up. Shock and horror abounded; nausea started to settle in. Humanity turned away in disgust, and all I could do was shrug my shoulders. After what seemed an eternity, she spoke.

            “Aren’t we supposed to hang out in six days?”

            “I can say whatever I want! I’ve got that right!”

            You’ve read those words correctly. In a blind panic, I allowed my own anxiety to whisper this phrase into my ears, in a bizarre attempt to grasp for some semblance of sanity. At this point, she was totally, irrevocably creeped out.

            “Okay… I’ve got to go.”

            Then she left. I turned and sprinted towards the nearest elevators, which carried my shaking body out of the station and into the streets of Chicago. I found a nearby bus stop, and took a bus to my apartment.

 

Part 3 �" Dylan Wants to Get Hit by a Bus

            Arriving in my apartment provided a relief. Looking around at my books scattered throughout, and my treasured CDs sitting by the stereo, I heaved a heavy sigh, content to relax amongst these relics of a bygone era. My David Bowie poster was displayed prominently on my wall, and one look at it provided a wave of comfort. No matter how bad things got, I could always turn to this beloved genius. After an hour, I heard a knock at the door, and answered. Standing before my eyes was Anthony, one of my best friends, and one of the few genuinely good people left in this world. I will be brief in my description: he’s slightly above average height, he’s relatively well-built (but not athletic), and always dresses in ways that reflect the trends of tomorrow. He speaks with a barbed tongue and sharp wit, leaving all wondering whether he is about to let out a crude remark or wax words poetic. I let Anthony in, and he sat on a sofa sitting against the wall on the left side of my room, facing a television that was rarely turned on. I pressed the play button on my stereo, and the song “The Ballad of the Costa Concordia” by Car Seat Headrest filled the room. Turning to my well-dressed friend, I told him what happened Alyssa, and he responded incredulously.

            “You told her what?”

            “I told her I would miss her…” Anthony briefly bellowed with laughter, but then returned to our conversation.

            “And this was the second time you hung out?”

            “Yeah.”

            “That’s stupid.”

            I nodded, and he continued.

            “That’s really stupid.” It hurt, but I knew he meant well.

            “Like I said, I know.”

            “I mean, that might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” Here, he grinned, and I couldn’t help but smile. Could anyone resist smiling when they see their best friend grin?

            “We were at Union Station, and I think the setting got to me,” I continued.

            “Did you even mean it?”

            “Not really. It just kind of came out… It’s my first date since I broke up with Dottie, so I think I conflated old habits with casual dating.” I provided this flimsy excuse. After a brief moment of silence, Anthony asked a question that inevitably led to a cringe.

            “How did she react?”

            “She seemed weirded out, and reminded me that we’d be seeing each other within the week.”

            “And then?”

            “I doubled down on the ‘miss you’ comment in a blind panic.” As I said this, I visibly cringed.

            “There’s a bright side to this. There’s some serious humor to be drawn from your iniquities. Like I’ve said before, self-deprecation is the fountain from which all good comedy flows.” Anthony’s attitude lifted a weight off my shoulders.

            “Whatever happens, let’s keep this between us.” Anthony nodded his assent.

            “Has she contacted you since then?”

            “She sent me one text a few days ago, but that’s it. I’m guessing we’re not hanging out anytime soon.”

            “My God! I would never have expected that outcome!” Anthony shouted, clearly feigning surprise.

            “You’re a jerk. Sadly, you’re also my best friend.” Despite the abrasive nature of the phrasing, my tone reassured him it was all in jest.

            “An omnipresent dichotomy in your otherwise monochrome tinted life.”

            “How the hell are you coming up with these one-liners? They’re a little pretentious.”

            “I’m not the one writing them.” His point was fair. It was now that another one of my best friends, Matt, entered the room, swinging the door open with gusto; he never knocked. He’s a man of average height, with skinny frame and casual clothing. Kindness abounds from him generously, and locked within him are the mysteries of the universe. Looking around, he addressed us in typical fashion.

            “Hello, my friends! Would anyone like a drink?” Here, he lifted up a six-pack of beer, and tossed Anthony a can. I didn’t partake. I’ve never been thrilled about alcohol.

            “I know who you would take a drink from,” Matt said to me, grinning.

            “You heard?” Anthony asked him.

            “Of course! Caitlyn told me all about it. She’s friends with Alyssa’s cousin. By the way Dylan, have I ever told you how much I miss you?” We all laughed, joyous in our camaraderie.

            “What led to her telling you that?” I asked with curiosity.

            “Nothing else to talk about.”

            “Nothing?”

            “Nope. We’re not really talkers.”

            “Matt, you talk the time,” Anthony accurately pointed out. This truth rang out like a bell from the belfry. We grinned, Matt continued.

            “Let me rephrase. We don’t talk to each other.”

            “Yet, you’re sleeping together,” Anthony said.

            “Why not just say f �"“ I began, but then Matt interrupted with haste.

            “Don’t use that word! It diminishes the artistic integrity of the conversation as a whole.” He paused, then addressed Anthony’s point.

            “But yes, Anthony, because I’m not a shallow man. I’m able to see past her haughty, insufferable personality and embrace her for who she is.” In other words, their attraction for each other superseded the otherwise requisite emotional connection in relationships. Such is the world of today.

            “You’re both being dramatic today, aren’t you?” I said.

            “Coming from the guy who told a girl he met last week he’d miss her,” Matt answered.

            “I’ll tell you this much, after it happened I wanted to get hit by a bus.” After I said this, everyone smiled, and a knock at the door was heard. I asked who it was, but before the person behind the door could answer, Matt opened it. In walked my tall, handsome, and Turkish non-biological brother, Ozan.

 

Part Four �" Ozan Calls Out the Infidel

            “Dylan! Have I ever told you how much I missed you?” Ozan said this gleefully, and we all laughed.

            “How did you hear?” I asked.

            “Everyone at the mosque was talking about it. Iman heard from Amina that Caitlyn told her that you told Alyssa that you’d miss her.”

            “Kind of like the sermon on the mount?” Anthony said, unexposed to religion in his upbringing.

            “That’s Judaism,” Matt said.

            “No, that’s Christianity. In Ozan’s situation, it’d be more comparable to a hadith,” I clarified.

            “Correct,” Ozan said. “It’s a shame you’re an apostate.”

            “Why is he a prostate?” Anthony asked, laughing. Then, after a pause, he asked, “actually, what is a prostate?”

            “It’s a cancer you get from too much soda,” Matt answered.

            “You’re thinking of a kidney stone. You get that from drinking too much soda.” Anthony spoke confidently, always ready to take center-stage in verbal exchanges with Matt.

            “I said apostate, not prostate. An apostate is someone who renounces a faith. For example, Dylan converted to Islam for a girl, and then left after she dumped him. Therefore, he’s an apostate.” Ozan illustrated illustriously.

            “Which of course entails me burning in hell,” I added.

            “According to the texts. Luckily, there’s always a chance to repent.”

            “I’m still trying to figure out what a prostate is,” Anthony announced, perhaps deliberately detracting us from uncomfortable religious discourse.

            “Just look it up online,” we all said in unison.

            “Dylan, my uncouth friend, what led you to tell Alyssa you’d miss her?” Ozan asked.

            “An everlasting impulse towards self-sabotage,” Matt correctly observed.

            “A gland surrounding the neck of the bladder in male mammals!” Anthony interjected.

            “What?” we all asked, again in unison.

            “According to Google, that’s a prostate.” Ozan rolled his eyes, and then asked the question that was on all of our minds.

            “Are you guys hungry? If you are, we should try this place called the Pasta Bowl. It’s a tiny restaurant, but there’s a bar connected to it.” Anthony, Matt, and I answered in the affirmative.

            “Let me eat this brownie first,” I said, pulling out a brownie laced with that word which raises dread in the hearts of white-collar, God-fearing Americans everywhere.  

            “What kind of brownie is it?” Matt asked.

            “I think you already know.” Everyone saw the grin on my face and smiled with understanding.

            “You’re going out high?” Anthony said with surprise.

            “Yeah. I haven’t smoked anything in weeks. I need stress relief.” My reasoning was both solid and impenetrable. Nobody could stop me.

            “The infidel knows no bounds.” Ozan smiled as he said this.

            “What’s an infidel?” Anthony was full of questions.

            “I think it’s a kind of cancer,” Matt answered.

 

Part 5 �" Portrait of Dylan as a Stoned Man

            The bus careened throughout the city, swaying from side to side as we swung about within, as if dancers in a ballet written by Stravinsky himself. When it finally stopped, we hopped off and wandered down the street and into the Pasta Bowl. When we walked through the doors, a wonderful sound filled my ears; it was “Baby Love” by the Supremes, playing through a stereo and bouncing off the walls of the restaurant, buoyant in its joy. Diana Ross briefly calmed my nerves, but they shortly started scattering in haphazard fashion. From the outside, I knew I looked sedated, and I couldn’t help but wobble like a penguin on my way up to a cash register, which sat on a counter in the center of the restaurant. A waitress came to the register, and I was floored by her beauty, effervescent before my eyes. I felt overwhelmed, miniscule in social stature compared to this woman, who seemed to have been borne from the stars themselves. Nonetheless, I immediately attempted to order food.

            “Hi! How are you?” I didn’t pause for a response, but continued rapid-fire, answering my own question. “I’m good. Anyways, is there a menu? Or salad?” I felt my mouth alternating between a grin and a serious expression. When I looked up, her face began to twist and contort itself into a kaleidoscope of colors, temporarily marring the accuracy of my perception. Luckily, she responded kindly.

            “Here’s a menu. We have some great pasta, too.” My God, I thought, can’t she TELL what I need? Is it not evident from the look in my eyes?

            “Salad!” I shouted in a sudden outburst. She didn’t even seem to care.

            “Okay. What kind?” What kind? What did she mean what kind? Why ask “What kind?” Does anybody know this? I should have looked over the menu. A temporary misstep. Get it together, I told myself. Whatever happens, just do what you can to get it together. I quickly scanned the menu.

            “Caesar. Chicken in it. Cooked chicken. I really like chicken. Caesar salad with chicken. And… um… water? Do you have carbonated water?” Carbonated water, the lifeblood of our cousins, who lived under the shadows of the Alps. Europe’s coup de grace. Shockingly, the waitress seemed to play along with my own awkwardness, and leaned closer to me as she talked. Instead of leaning closer to her as well, I slowly backed away, afraid of her nose which seemed to spontaneously grow before my bloodshot eyes. She laughed, briefly left, then came back with the water.

            “Here you go!”

            “Thank you very much! You’re the best.” She smiled, but I decided to sit as far away from her as possible, gleefully terrified. Suddenly, Anthony’s voice called to me from afar, accompanied by the laughter of my comrades.

            “Dan, come here!” The others were seated at a round table near the counter, and I sat with them while waiting for my salad to be brought out. Their faces caused me alarm, and in my head, I thought, did I do something wrong?

            “Dan, she’s clearly flirting with you,” Matt said authoritatively, always an expert at social niceties.

            “Are you sure?” I asked. The others nodded. I continued, “I can’t flirt right now. I’m slightly… sedated.” A goofy grin was plastered across my face, and hysterical laughter bellowed from the bowels of my stomach. I then turned to address Ozan.

            “Ozan, my dear friend, flirt for me.” I appealed to his emotion by looking deeply into his eyes, but my gaze seemed to put him in a state of discomfort.

            “We should go to the bar, and you can eat your salad there,” he responded. I looked fearfully towards the door leading to the adjacent bar. It was dark and full of people. I was terrified.

            “But there are people in there,” I said apprehensively.

            “And girls,” Matt said, “which is why I’m here.”

            “What if they try to STEAL MY SALAD!” I shouted and slammed my fists on the table, attracting the attention of the entire restaurant. The waitress was behind me with my salad, and looked at me as if I had escaped from Arkham Asylum. I promptly grabbed my salad, and Anthony dragged me into the bar.

            Once in the bar, Anthony let go of me, and I began to vibe to the house music concocted by a DJ in the corner of the room. I stood at a table by a dart board, and watched darts fly through the air, imagining they were arrows being shot from Native Americans at colonial trespassers, who responded brutally with bullets. I winced at the cruelty of our country’s founders, then turned to eat. The others headed to the bar to order drinks and flirt with women. They gestured for me to follow, but I remained at the table to act as spectator of the world around me. The brownie was hitting its peak, and the mixture of murky darkness and flashes of strobe lights blurred into a beautiful rainbow. I went from being terrified to being completely content with my disposition. I felt as though I was at the center of a rainbow-colored universe, and even the faces of those looking strangely towards me seemed beautiful. Within minutes, the others had found a group of girls to talk too. After watching them attempt to flirt for 20 minutes, the girls left, and they took their seats. Anthony pointed to an empty seat, and I stumbled over. My friends tried talking to me, but I couldn’t understand a thing, and decided to give them an occasional nod, and pretend I was listening. They were feeling the effects of their alcohol, which allowed my method to succeed. Suddenly, hands covered Matt’s eyes. Matt clumsily turned around.

            “Katie! It’s you,” Matt said excitedly. “How are you?”

            “Good, and yourself?”

            “Really great. Just a busy workweek.” We all knew Matt hadn’t worked in a few days, but nobody stopped him.

            “Yeah, I feel that.” Katie felt Matt. I felt abundant happiness for his presumed happiness. However, the happiness was soon shattered. A tall, evil-looking man resembling Josef Goebbels, wearing a dark jacket and black skinny jeans, tapped Katie on the shoulder.

            “Josh!” This was all she exclaimed, and it set off a chain of events which sent the night into a whirlwind.

            “Katie? What are you doing here?” Josh muttered in a menacing tone. “I thought you said you left town because your Grandma needed someone to watch her dog.”

Josh, I thought. This man has the eyes of a killer. Was he a colonial warlord in his past life? Why do I ask myself? Of course.

            “I clearly implied I was through with you,” Katie answered defiantly. “Can’t you get that through your head?”

            “You’re not through until I say you’re through.”

            Josh pulled out a knife, but just as he pulled the knife out, Matt turned around and threw up his alcohol on him. Katie kicked Josh where it really hurts, and Anthony pulled the knife out of his hand. Ozan stood bewildered, hardly able to believe what had transpired. I grabbed the plastic knife that came with my salad, and tried to plunge it into Josh’s hand, but it failed to penetrate. Josh reached into the front of his pants, where a gun could be seen. Everyone in the bar began to panic and run outside. Anthony threw Katie backwards and onto the ground in order to get past her, and my comrades and I scattered into the street outside the Pasta Bar.

 

Part Six �" Do Not Go Unarmed into the Gentle Night

            We stampeded down the street with haste, as bullets whizzed from Josh’s pistol past our ears, reminding us that life is temporary, but death is permanent. Explicative after explicative liberally rang from our mouths, but luckily Matt was there to remind me that this portion of dialogue cannot be transcribed, as it would almost certainly be an impediment to being published. After a few minutes of sprinting, a scream was heard, and Anthony fell on the ground, writhing uncontrollably. Everyone tumbled into each other in confusion, and Josh continued shooting, with no discernible target. Anthony had been shot in the leg. Ozan rushed to his aid, and begged Anthony to repent, but Anthony refused, instead deciding to die Godless. A shattering of glass was heard, and the bullets stopped. We all looked up, and saw Katie standing behind where Josh once stood, with a broken glass in her hand. Josh laid on the ground, his head bleeding; Katie had smashed the back of a beer bottle onto Josh’s head. David had finally conquered Goliath. She then grabbed the gun, walked towards Anthony, and began her attack.

            “You could’ve gotten me killed.” Katie seethed with anger.

            “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing!” Anthony shouted, grimacing in pain.

            “You think I’d shove you to the floor in a bar, with an angry ex waving a gun towards you?”

            “Look, Katie. I’m sure you’re a nice girl, but we’re both adults now. The instinct of self-preservation overrides etiquette, and I’ve never been strong on etiquette.”

            At this point, I couldn’t help but laugh. At first, I was able to contain it to the extent that it was not heard, but the brownie produced one final outburst of unimpeded laughter. Katie was distracted, and Matt grabbed the gun from her hand, after which she began to cry. Matt, the sole voice of reason in our situation, delivered a riveting monologue, which rivaled Cicero in its eloquence.

            “Everyone, calm down! I’m sure the police have been called by now. In case you couldn’t tell, there’s a crowd of people staring at us. I don’t know about you, but I have a warrant out for my arrest in Illinois, and I can’t afford to be arrested at this point in my life. Because of my unfortunate position, I have to get out of here as soon as possible. I suggest you call an ambulance for Anthony. I’m going to set this gun down before I go, but I strongly recommend nobody grab it. Alright, I bid you adieu!”

            We were all moved by this performance, and Matt disappeared into the night. Police lights were visible in the distance. Josh then stood up, and delivered his own brief speech.

            “I’ve got to go too. I’m not trying to get charged with a crime.”

            Josh ran off, and everyone stared, stupefied. Then, Katie spoke.

            “You can’t pull a stunt like this then leave!” She left, running after Josh.

            Now it was just Anthony, Ozan, and I. Ozan spoke next.

            “I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t be here either. The police give me bad vibes.”

            Ozan left, and I knelt beside Anthony, unable to take in the gravity of the situation. Then, Anthony delivered the words which left him alone, staring at the face of death.

            “Dan, if I don’t make it…” Here, he looked into my eyes, and spoke softly. “I’ll miss you.” I felt a strange queasiness as he said this, and a discomfort spread throughout my body like a virus. I shuddered, not knowing what to do. In a sudden moment of revelation, it became clear.

            “Okay… um… I’ve got to go.” I slowly walked away from Anthony, and didn’t look back. Then, a philosophical truth presented itself to me in the form of a final thought before sobriety: Never go unarmed into the gentle night.

 

Part Seven �" Dan Blows It Again; The World Comes Full Circle

            I spent half an hour wandering through random streets and alleys, and then my stomach began to ache. I saw a streetlight illuminating a sidewalk where a solitary man with headphones stood. I stumbled towards the man, took out my phone to get an Uber, and stopped a few steps behind him. The aftereffects of the brownie were wreaking havoc on my stomach, and I suddenly began to throw up uncontrollably behind the man. He turned around in surprise and took a few steps away from me, backing into the street. A bus horn blared, and the bus smashed into his body. Screaming began, and chaos ensured. As everything played out around me, I felt a stab of guilt, realizing that I may have accidentally left Anthony to die.

 

Part Eight �" Aftermath

            The rest of the night happened in a blur, but everything ended up working out. I later found out the man hit by the bus was named Martin. He was hospitalized, but survived the accident. He decided not to press charges, and has instead sworn vengeance against me, vowing that he may one day hurl my limp body into the depths of hell. He constantly leaves me messages on my phone reminding me of this, but I delete them. Anthony survived, but his leg was amputated, and he had to get a prosthetic one. Being the good man he is, he decided to forgive everyone for leaving him behind, as our friendship is worth more to him than a leg. Ozan hasn’t been heard from since that night, but we’ve heard from acquaintances that he begs for money on Michigan Ave., babbling incoherently about the wrath of God and Democratic Socialism. Josh is on the run from the police, who have made no progress in their investigation. He was last seen with Katie, who found her desire for him rekindled after seeing him holding a gun (apparently it turns her on). Matt continues to be a voice of reason for those around him, but the mysteries of the universe remain buried within his soul. Alyssa never got in touch with me after the incident, which is what was to be expected.  I continue to drift with the currents of life, largely apathetic, but with brief moments of joy and meaning. After all, life is far too absurd to be taken seriously, and one can hardly be expected to invest themselves in such a sordid affair.

 

To my readers with love (or lack thereof),

Dylan