The Emo (Butterfly) Effect

I'm pretty sure that there's a new serial murderer with a vengeance for bus riders. New as in yesterday had only killed one person and that doesn't count as multiple people (serial), so was therefore only a super creepy lurker man that sells handmade scarves. All the 7:15 regulars were no where to be seen today and I got a little bit scared. Where was the old man who took bong hits near the fountain? The guy from the sandwich place with red hair and emo glasses? The woman who took up two seats of the small bench; one for her selfish self, and one for her selfish groceries? I didn't particularly like or dislike any of them (except the selfish woman), and yet they were my constants. We had a routine, an unspoken understanding, and man were we smooth.

Emo boy was the switch that got our machine working. He'd fiddle with his eye brow piercing and then push his side part more to the side. When he finished his hair, stoner man knew it was his cue to start inhaling, he'd give the emo boy a nod, and emo boy would give him a melodramatic thumbs up. Stoner man would hold in the smoke for as long as he could, and at 50 years of experience he could really hold it. He'd let it out, cough a little, and that was when grocery woman would look off into the distance as to avoid our angry stares. She generally wasn't inclined to give a nod, a wink, or any other identifiable sign to let us know that her part was done, but we knew that she was a bitch and let her inadequacy slide. Usually teen girl would just count to 15 before starting her part, which was to talk on her cell loudly about something random, annoying, and unnecessary. Then the bussiness man would think about how "he unfortunately had to reside with all these no-good rif rafs," and although he was only thinking it, we could read his mind. When he finished that thought the bus driver would drive up and pretend that he was a police officer. We'd play along and let him feel like he had power and authority because we all knew that public transit operator was very close to law enforcer.

I'd pull out my pony tail and shake my hair as if to say "our work is done for today." Then I'd squint to block out the setting sun, and that was the go ahead for mr. busdriver. He'd press the gas, the bus would creak, and then we'd ride into the night.

However, emo boy didn't push his hair aside tonight, infact he didn't even show up. Our machine never got going and everyone was fretting. When I got on the bus old stoner man wasn't high, he looked really nervous and kept on switching seats. The bus driver motioned for me to come up and talk to him and so I did. "Where was emo boy?" he hissed at me. I told him I didn't know, but that something was up, and somebody knew about our machine. He rubbed his chin and looked like he was gonna faint. "Go sit down," he said. Selfish grocery woman didn't have any groceries, so she compensated by taking off one shoe and letting it use up a second seat.

Things started getting rough when mr. bus driver wasn't making any stops. I went back up to the front and found him sweating. I was searching for the right thing to say, but I had no words.

I pushed my hair to the side, I started listening to Belle and Sebastian on my iPod, and morphed my shoes into black converse high tops. I took a paper clip from my pocket and pushed it though my lip.

Mr. bus driver began to relax, he loosened up his grip on the wheel, made the bus come to a stop, and let some people off.

"I'll be your emo cog," I said, as the blood from my lip dripped onto the ticket spitter.