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 ^{(it's beta!)}

When I'd moved to the big city three weeks prior to my incident at the bus stop, I'd been full of hope. At the time, it certainly seemed like something that would improve my life drastically. The boy I'd been dating for a couple years had moved out months before and had finally convinced me that I should transfer colleges to be closer to him. We fought about it for awhile. The college in the city was more expensive, I'd say. Well, then you'll just have to live with me and save on room and board, he'd answer.

Eventually, I let him win the argument because I was tired of fighting and figured that it couldn't hurt me to change environments. I submitted my application to the university in the heart of the city, and was accepted to transfer halfway through the school year. I packed all my shit into my car the day after Christmas and moved in that night.

And it was great, for about two seconds.

Then things started going wrong. He'd ask me, why didn't you go to the grocery store? Or, how come you didn't clean this morning? And I'd say, I'm job hunting, jackass, YOU do it. And then he'd throw something and scream and I'd throw something right back because I'm not scared of him, not matter how much bigger or stronger he is.

Anyway, the morning of the bus stop incident, we'd had another fight. Boyfriend had gotten it into his mind that I was supposed to be doing his laundry. Like I had time to be his maid. So I told him, screw you, I'm going to go look for a job and he said that I didn't look too hard, apparently, because I never found one. Which just pissed me off, because finding a job isn’t exactly easy, so I said fuck you, grabbed my coat and left.

I didn't really mean it, though, because I still loved him. So I was crying, and my face was kinda red and splotchy and gross, and I knew no one was going to hire me looking like I did. I just walked around for awhile, trying to calm down and figure out what the hell I was planning on doing, exactly. I thought I remembered a diner with a help wanted sign on the other side of the city, so I went to the bus stop. It was a pretty long wait, and eventually some guy sat down next to me.

"You waiting for the number twenty eight?" he asked me, all casual like. He didn't even look at me. His eyes were staring ahead at the street.

I shrugged, even though he couldn't really see me, and said, "Whatever."

I guess he figured out that I meant yes because he didn't say anything for a long time. He just kept staring at all the cars and taxis and shit passing us, and it was beginning to freak me out. I'm pretty young, and this guy was a lot bigger than I was, and I was in the big city.

He spoke again, awhile later.

"Why you here?"

"I'm waiting for the bus."

He kinda laughed at my answer and shook his head, and for the first time he looked over at me. And damn, this man looked tired. Damn tired. He had some dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept for three days, and he slouched. Like his body couldn't support his weight, or something. Anyway, he shook his head at my response before telling me, "I meant here, in this city. Why you here?"

His gaze was kind of making me feel weird, as if I was being scrutinized, and it made me feel squirmy and strange. I shrugged again, answering, "Why is anybody here?"

"That's not a real answer." he told me.

I sighed. "Boyfriend."

I could see his upper lip sort of twitch when I said that. "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Oh." he said, "I've got a daughter who's sixteen. She's dating her first boyfriend."

He said it so deadpan that I didn't know if I was suppose to be happy or sad about this. Or even if I was supposed to care. So I turned my attention to the street and answered him in the same sort of emotionless tone.

"Cool."

He snorted. Apparently, it was not cool. "He's a little prick." he paused, "You ever date someone to piss off your dad?"

That one made me smile. "Yeah." I could tell he was only asking me because he thought that was what his daughter was doing, so I added, "It's a phase though. I think all girls do it. She'll get tired of him."

"Some punk ass drop out who lives with his parents." he kept going like he never even heard me, "That's who she wants to be with. Fucking unbelievable, you know?"

I didn't know. But I said "yeah" anyway.

"You think you raise them right. Tell them the type of people they should associate with. Help them on the right path. And then they date some idiot who probably only wants one thing." The stranger shook his head, coughing slightly and then recovering quickly, "You living with a badboy to make your parents angry?"

Boyfriend wasn't a badboy. He was going to college. He drank a bit, but he was legally allowed to. Not that when he was illegal that had stopped him much, but whatever. The parents seemed to like him okay. As much as they'd liked any of my boyfriends. I realized I'd been quiet awhile before I replied.

"Not really. They seem okay with him." I fiddled with the fingernails on one of my hands, "He's alright."

The stranger nodded. "I tried to forbid her from seeing him."

I laughed out loud. "No way in hell did that work."

"It didn't." he grinned wrly, "She just told me that I couldn't stop her from seeing the boy she loved." Suddenly, his expression lost any of the laughter it had had. "Can't believe she loves that little bastard."

"Is he really so bad?"

"Yeah." he answered, running a hand through his hair. I could see his hair was starting to gray and thin out at the top of his head. I felt bad for the man, for a moment. "She's sixteen. What does she know about love, anyway."

I checked my watch. The bus would be there, soon. "I don't know. I fell in love when I was sixteen."

He nodded. "Yeah, me too." a paused, "And I married her. But love isn't permanent, you know? You can swear to love someone forever and really, really mean it, but you can't help fate. You can't control destiny. And you can promise something until you're blue in the face but if it isn't meant to be..."

"I get it." I said.

He continued anyway. "But if it isn't meant to be all you get is a very expensive divorce and a chance to see your kid every other weekend. And even then all she does is talk about her idiot boyfriend because she loves him so fucking much."

I was pretty speechless, for the first time in the whole damn conversation. The guy talked a bit much, for my taste, but at least he said something when he spoke. And I felt bad because his daughter's boyfriend sounded like a douchebag, and I kind of wanted to help him but I didn't know how. So, instead, I sat there, silent, hoping he'd talk because I couldn't.

Lucky for me, he did. "Shit, I'm sorry for dumping all this on you." I started to protest but he held up a hand to silence me. "Your bus is almost here, I think."

I leaned forward and looked down the street, and he was right. The bus was coming my way. I leaned back to say goodbye to the stranger, but he'd already stood and walked a few steps forward, out toward the street he'd been looking at so intently earlier. I got up to follow him, and tell him not to worry about his daughter and the prick because I was sure they'd break up, but he just kept walking. Forward and forward. I kept expecting him to turn and he never did and I was screaming in my head, grab his arm and WHY WON'T YOU TURN, OLD MAN.

But I didn't grab his arm and he never turned. And that's why the bus hit him.

I saw his obituary in the paper a few days later. Scott H. James, survived by one daughter, Sylvia. His services were being held in a funeral parlor a few blocks away from my aparntment with the Boyfriend. I felt sort of obligated to go.

Boyfriend didn't understand. He kept asking, why do you need to go? You didn't know him. And no matter how many times I tried to tell him that I just had to, okay, he insisted that I didn't. I finally just told him I was going and that was that, the end, and he was pretty mad for a minute, but I think he understood better, afterward.

I walked to the funeral parlor on the day of the service, and signed in on the guestbook they had out in front of the door. I felt pretty weird signing my name. Everyone else's name was foreign to me. They'd meant something to him. He hadn't even known who I was, really. I sort of felt like Boyfriend might have been right, until I walked in and sat down and saw her. Slyvia.

She kind of looked like her dad. Had his nose, or something. And the same color hair as him. She was wearing a pretty nice dress, and some cute heels that I'd seen in the mall not too long ago that I'd wanted. I didn't really want them, anymore. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her makeup was all done. The mascara was a little runny, under her eyes, and she was wearing very shiny lip gloss.

I waited until people stopped speaking about Scott H. James to approach his daughter because I felt weird talking to her beforehand. She was pretty swamped, for awhile, with people crowding around her asking her if she was alright. I kind of wanted to point out that she'd probably be better if they would giver her some room to breathe, but I didn't say anything.

After awhile, the circle broke up and I moved toward Slyvia and grabbed her arm. She whipped toward me and gave me a funny look, like she was trying to place my face or some shit like that.

It took her a moment, but she eventually got it. "You were that girl at the bus stop. The one with him when it happened."

I nodded. "Yeah."

I didn't know whether she was going to scream at me or cry or do both, and for a moment we just both stood there in silence while she tried to figure out which emotion was the strongest. Then she started to cry, and I felt bad for going up to her in the first place.

"I just wanted to tell you..." I said, trying to make this meeitng short for both of us. And then I realized I didn't have a clue what it was I wanted to tell her, and I took a long pause, trying to collect my thoughts. "Dump your boyfriend."

Her tears were gone and she gave me a weird look. "Excuse me?"

"That's what he was talking about, before..." I cleared my throat, "He hated your boyfriend. Called him a prick. Didn't think the guy was good enough for you."

She looked at me real strange for a real long time, and I thought she was going to yell at me, but then she sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, Daddy wasn't too fond of Robbie."

I gulped. "You know what they say about father knowing best."

We were both quiet again, shifting about on our feet uncomfortably, and then she managed to say, "Yeah. Maybe he was right." she looked at me for a long time, and I held her gaze, and then out of nowhere she reached out and squeezed my arm.

"Thanks for telling me."

"Least I could do."

And that was a lie because I could have done less. I could have simply not told her anything. But her father had seemed a decent sort, from our time spent together at the bus stop, and I wanted him, wherever he was, to feel better knowing his daughter wasn't stuck with some douche.

And when I got home and my boyfriend asked me why I hadn't cleaned, I dumped him, and it made me feel better, knowing I wasn't stuck with some douche.

A/N: Uh, don't know what qualifies as mild/moderate/strong language so I kind of took a guess. Sorry if I offended someone and didn't put it in a strong enough category.