By Arvilla Fee
Various scents of humanity assault my nose as I take the first empty seat I find, middle of bus #39. The man beside me has an outdoorsy scent of pine and something else I can’t identify, not entirely unpleasant. As I prepare to sink into cell phone oblivion for the ride home, a loud noise to my right catches my attention. A young lady sits alone one row back, her owlish glasses perched high on her button nose, her plaid jumper and white knee-high socks neatly in place. She’s clutching a small red handbag to her chest, as if her life depends on it—and maybe it does.
Two younger men, though well beyond the age of high school shenanigans and fashion-ripped jeans, are seated behind her, and they keep reaching over the back of the seat to flick the young lady’s head and pull her blonde braids. Does anyone else notice? It’s obvious from the lady’s physical appearance that she has Down Syndrome, and the appalling lack of human decency has me on my feet in an instant.
“Excuse me,” I say to her, while glaring at the boy-men, “Is this seat taken?”
She grins and scoots over. “Nope. My name is Georgia Fry. I’m twenty, and I like dogs.”
The hooligans behind us snicker; I turn and laser them with another look. “Nice to meet you, Georgia Fry. My name is Phoebe. I like dogs, too.”
I feel fingers creeping behind me before I see them and whirl to face the men.
They smirk like fifth-graders, and I make a quick decision—hoping it’s the right one.
I get to my feet and begin speaking in my best radio broadcaster voice : “Attention bus patrons. There are two men on this bus who seem to have forgotten we are all human beings living on one planet and that we owe it to each other to be kind and considerate. They are tormenting my new friend, Georgia Fry, who happens to be a lovely person!”
The men stare at me, mouths open.
“Shall we say good riddance?” I ask, pulling the stop rope.
Everyone is now staring: passengers, the men, Georgia.
“This ain’t our stop,” one of the men snarls.
Then chants of “Off the bus! Off the bus!” rise like a tidal wave from every passenger aboard. Even the driver joins in.
“Just go,” one says, sulking.
After they exit, cheers erupt. I bow to Georgia, and she stands and waves at everyone.
“Georgia Fry!” I begin.
“Georgia Fry! Georgia Fry!” Everyone shouts and claps.
We take our seats and grin like twin sisters.
* * *
Arvilla Fee teaches English and is the managing editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous presses, including Calliope, North of Oxford, Rat’s Ass Review, Mudlark, and many others. Her poetry books, The Human Side and This is Life, are available on Amazon. Arvilla loves writing, photography and traveling, and she never leaves home without a snack and water (just in case of an apocalypse). For Arvilla, writing produces the greatest joy when it connects us to each other. To learn more about her work, you can visit her website: https://soulpoetry7.com/