It's Time To Wake Up

I open my eyes and it's dark but that's really only because I'm still staring at my legs, the hood of my sweater pulled up around my face. Slowly I uncurl, unfurling exactly like a flower doesn't as I stare up into a face that strikes me with a potent sense of deja vu.

I've seen this man before.

He's all soft edges which is odd because every bit of him says he's lived a hard life. His face is a mottle of drinks he's enjoyed but more than that the ones that he didn't, the ones he needed to have instead. A shaggy grey stubble on his chin and a nose that is so broadly spread that it looks like it's been broken a few times before. His hairline is receding but he's shaved his head to try to hide it, though the hair on his pate looks to be the same length as the hair on his cheeks so it makes me think of him standing in front of the mirror going round and round with a buzzer all at once in some sort of a mockery of a haircut.

I can't take in all of him at once. He's broad and imposing and I can only focus on one piece at a time. The watery insubstantiality of his eyes. The pallor of his cheeks where they ought to be blotchy red at least tells me that he's sober now. The press of his uniform around his bulk tells me that he's due for an upgrade, but maybe that he's still under the illusion that he's twenty pounds lighter than he really is.

I know this man. I've seen him before.

He woke me, on my trip to college. He was the bus driver and he said those same exact words that he just uttered. He looked down at me with that same scowl on his face and that means that somehow I'm back and it means I know what happens next.

Next his scowl is going to turn into a sneer. He's going to say something about me being lazy, something about me not knowing what it's like to work a real job for a real living and he's going to yank my bag out of the overhead bin and jam it into my arms before ushering me rudely off the bus.

And just like I didn't think he does precisely none of that.

His scowl breaks and it turns into a grin that has far less teeth than it should. He steps back instead of stepping in closer, reaching up and pulling down my bag he sets it lightly on the seat beside me before reaching his hand out in an offer to help me up.

"Up now," he says, "Enough beauty sleep for now, I'd reckon."

I'm off kilter so I take his hand. It's gruff and rough and warm and his grip is tight enough but still surprisingly gentle as he helps me to my feet. It's clear he's treating me with a gentler touch, like I'm made out of china.

"Easy does it," he goes on, still grinning, "Hate to rush you but I do need to get wrapped up here or my boss will be on my case. Hope it's not trouble to you."

I shake my head, opening my mouth but unable to properly form words at this point.

"Right then," he goes on, stepping towards the back of the bus and gesturing me to the front, "Off we go."

I let him lead me off the bus even though he's behind me. I remember him being big, tall and broad, and it's definitely the case now. He towers behind me, filling up the space easily as we walk towards the front and down the steps into the bus depot.

The place is busy, filled with smoke and sound and people and the scent of gas or oil. It's all a rush and a riot around me and I feel out of sorts, like I can't really make heads or tails of things. I stop short and he bumps into me and I stumble around, spinning quick and ready to apologize.

"Oh sorry there," he says, stumbling over his own words instead, "Didn't mean to- Oh you must- Oh but- Here you go then."

He thrusts out my bag and it knocks into my chest and I wrap my arms around it more to keep from falling than anything else and it looks like he's about to apologize and I don't know what's happening. I don't understand any of this or why this isn't happening the way it was supposed to happen and why my memory is breaking until I realize.

My second chance. My second chance is real.

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