Omnibus Literary Magazine

The Rushing Man​

       I’m not the kind of person who gets worked up over little things, so I wasn’t offended when the man pushed past me at the bus stop. I figured he was in a rush. It happens; you’re running late for work or trying to get to a lunch date on time, so you don’t notice what’s going on around you. Maybe his wife was giving birth. Like I said, I didn’t take it personally. I shrugged it off and followed him onto the bus. I was in no rush. My wife was visiting her parents out of town and I didn’t work that Friday, so I had the afternoon to myself. I figured I’d grab a late lunch and maybe see a movie. There was this Chinese place I’d been meaning to try and a new comedy with an actor I liked had just come out.

       I sat in the seat across from the Rushing Man and closed my eyes as the bus started to move. After several blocks of riding, I opened my eyes, and out of nothing more than boredom, I fixed my attention on the man across the aisle from me. He seemed calmer now, as if resigned to the fact that he couldn’t push past the other cars to get where he was going faster. He had done his due diligence rushing up the several steps onto the bus and now it was left to fate. His hat tipped over, shading his eyes in a casual, relaxed manner, but his leg tapped and he checked his watch with such frequency that I started to wonder if it might be a tic of some sort.

       I don’t consider myself to be a very anxious person, but there was something about this man that made me nervous. His urgency was almost contagious and now I was as desperate to understand him as he was to get on the bus. Yet, we were suspended there, moving only blocks at a time, stopping to let more people get on and get nowhere.

       I focused my attention on the man again. He had settled somewhat. His leg was still and his coat was off, folded neatly over his lap. I focused more intently on his face and saw beneath the shadow of his hat that his eyes were closed, but he occasionally cleared his throat or readjusted his head against the window, so I assumed he was still awake. He seemed relaxed. This abrupt change had made me even more curious. I tapped my foot, hoping he would open his eyes and look over so I could find an excuse to start a conversation and ask him why he was in such a hurry. Yet, he still sat there, eyes closed— calm. Even the rise and fall of his chest seemed to have slowed as if he were in a near catatonic level of meditation. I imagined that if I took his pulse, it would be slow enough to provoke serious medical concern. My foot kept tapping.

       We stopped and people got on and off, but I hardly noticed. I was focused on this man. I wanted to jump up, rip his hat off his head, and yell in his face —Why were you rushing? Why are you so calm now? What right do you have?— but I was trapped in place, eyes locked on him. He readjusted himself again and opened his eyes. He looked directly at me and my stomach dropped in anticipation of whatever was certainly about to happen. He pursed his lips and smiled— calmly and

politely, how you smile at someone when you accidentally make eye contact. Then he closed his eyes again and resumed his infuriating relaxation. Any hope I had of starting a conversation was long forgotten. I could’ve screamed and I very nearly did.

       We went on like this for a little while longer. The air conditioning kicked on again and I unfolded my coat and missed the sleeves several times as I attempted to pull it on. I realized that the background had changed and, as I glanced around, it seemed that I didn't recognize any of the faces. Had I been so focused on the one man that I hadn't even looked at the other passengers, or had they all simply come and gone by now?

       With my leg still tapping frantically, I thought about it again and again. Why had he been so desperate as to push past me? Originally, I had thought he must have been late for something, but he had made no move since climbing aboard the bus. Maybe he wasn’t in a rush. Maybe the shove was intended for me. Had he been rushing somewhere, he would’ve gotten off by now; the bus had almost completed a full loop through the city. I checked my watch. We’d been on the bus for over

two hours. He wouldn’t still be sitting there. Had he missed his stop? I tried to picture the bus map and work out where he may have been going. There was the First Street stop by the hospital, but he had missed that one. Most offices were on Sixth, which we had passed. The Riverside Avenue stop was where the restaurants were, but he couldn't possibly have been meeting a friend there because we had missed that a while ago. That was where I was getting off to go to the Chinese restaurant.

       That was when it hit me: I had completely missed my stop. I’d been so distracted by the Rushing Man that I spent my afternoon on the bus. Just as I realized that, the bus shuddered to a halt and I jumped to my feet. The Rushing Man got up and, in my desperation, I shoved him aside as I rushed to the door. Five steps off the bus, I froze. This was the stop where I had gotten on. All of that for nothing.

       I was dimly aware of the Rushing Man strolling past me and disappearing from my peripheral vision. I would never see him again. The buildings around me looked the same as they had this morning: gray and dull. The same homeless man huddled in a boarded doorway. As for me, I was exactly the same.

       I took an aimless step and my foot kicked something soft. I looked down and saw the Rushing Man’s hat. An odd impulse struck me and without thought, I put it on.

My evening was over. I walked the block home. I took the frozen pizza out of the refrigerator and ate several slices while I drank a few beers. The TV was on but I wasn’t watching. Outside my apartment, I saw the bus drive by on its last lap of the night. Full from the pizza and beer, I slid my hat over my eyes to shield them from the light of the TV and fell asleep.