{The Friendly Rider | Creative Writing

 The white bus with blue and red stars, tinted windows and the name “The Friendly Rider” drove quietly through the small town. The slogan under the innocent name proclaimed “an easy way to get from here to there”.

The sun was sinking on the horizon, signaling the end of the calm summer evening. The only sounds were an occasional car as it drove by, and a dog barking a few blocks away.

A tired girl sat on the bench on the corner of 6^th and Illinois Ave. She’d had a long day at work, and she had an even longer walk home. Her black shoes hurt her feet, but were a requirement on the job.

Just then the Friendly Rider pulled up the curb. She wasn’t at a bus stop, and she hadn’t waved them down, but the bus ground to a stop alongside her. She’d never taken the bus before, but tonight she thought, “sure, why not?”

She didn’t pay much attention to the driver as the doors slowly folded open and she reached in her purse to find her fare. She mumbled her destination and made her way to the third row, vaguely noticing the absence of other passengers, other than an older lady in the very back, and plopped down on the seat.

The girl reached down to loosen her shoes, and leaned her forehead against the window. The boulevard trees flew by and she closed her eyes, listening to the soft noise of the engine. Before she knew it she had dozed off.

When she opened her eyes it was dark. The sun had finally slipped behind the horizon, and there was just a faint glowing line left. She rubbed her eyes as she peered out the window, her mind groggy and confused and she didn’t recognize the road passing by. She shook her head and just as she began to realize that this wasn’t the way home, the bus slowed and pulled onto a dark dirt road.

She could just make out a few dilapidated buildings, and what looked like an old fairground. She began to panic and started up the aisle, questioning the driver. “Where are we? What is this?” she asked, but her only answer was silence and a blank stare ahead. 

She pushed on the doors, thinking that if they weren’t going too fast she would jump, but they were locked shut. They rounded a corner and came to a sudden stop. The doors opened and the girl jumped out.  Bright lights lite her panicky face as she stared up at a Ferris Wheel, the only apparent life in an abandoned fairground. And then she noticed the clown.

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I don’t usually write stories like this, but this one popped into my head one day when thinking about how utterly creepy the “Friendly Rider” bus is. Not to mention fairgrounds at night. My sister say I have too much of an imagination… but hey, it runs in the family. 

{Elevator Etiquette | Creative Writing}

Elevators. Why were they invented? I understand that sometimes they are useful, but more often they are just plain awkward.

I just spend ten days in hotel that only had stairs in case of a fire emergency. Needless to say I had lots of experience riding elevators. The more I rode, the more I wished for a set of stairs, even if that meant being out of breath and taking a little longer to reach my room.

I still haven’t figured out the proper way to act in an elevator. Do you engage the people in there with you? Or do you pretend to stare intently at the screen and watch the floor numbers change? Is it rude to make small talk, or is it rude to pretend that they’re not there?

Both ways can be equally awkward. Like when the older man in the elevator started making slightly unnerving remarks about how beautiful our eyes were when we still had multiple floors to go. Or when you ride nine floors down with the big guy who is wearing gold chains and has tattoos that doesn’t say a word when you get in.

If you do start a conversation, it’s always rudely interrupted by the elevator doors opening, but if you don’t start one…. the time feels like forever.

What if the ones you're stuck there with five times in just two days, don't speak much English but try to ask you questions?

Do you say goodbye when you leave the elevator? It feels like you should, but when it’s the only thing you’ve said… it feels even more weird than saying nothing.

What about getting on the elevator? The best part is when neither of you realize there’s someone on the other side of the door, and get fairly surprised. Best reaction to that situation? “Oh! Hello! And WELCOME to your floor!!” (this particular instance was made even more awkward by the fact that we were in swim suits, and that the above comment was followed by, “your clothes are in your room!”)

What do you do when the door is closing? Do you run and stick your hand in to make it open? Or just wait until the next elevator comes? It feels kind of dumb to sit there and wait, when there was just one there, but it feels even more dumb to go racing to the door, start waving your arm and then jump in to a group full of people (“Hi!”).

I guess the only thing I’ve figured out for certain is that elevators can be handy for times when you are carrying big loads of luggage, or when you are all by yourself and can jump and sing, but usually it’s better to take the stairs.

{ "That" good of friends | Creative Writing - Personal}

The girl waited impatiently to leave the plane. She stood in the isle with her backpack slung across one shoulder and her suitcase at her feet. She pulled at the neck of her Twins sweatshirt and shifted. Thoughts flashed through her brain, ‘was this really a good idea?’ she second guessed herself.

Eventually the line started moving and everything went from the quiet calm on the plane to busy people rushing here and there, the sound of roller bags on the linoleum, here and there a different language. The girl briefly wished she wasn't wearing a sweatshirt and tennis shoes in the California airport, but the thought was interrupted by the sound of her name.

“You’re here!” Hugs, parking lots and cars followed, then two years’ worth of catching up. It didn’t take long to skip the small stuff and jump right into what God had been doing in their lives, but still the quiet doubts lingered.

The next day the two found themselves in San Diego, looking for a gelato shop in the midst of all the crazy ComicCon goers. After enjoying cappuccino flavored gelato they ventured up the outside staircase to find the bathrooms. Laughing and talking as the followed the sign the pushed open the door and stopped when they realized it was a single bathroom.

“Ummm, go for it,” one of them said, and the other walked back to the main room to awkwardly read the bulletin board. Before she could get to the board however, one of the men sitting at a table looked up from his computer with a laugh and remarked, “Not that good of friends, huh?”

“Ha… yeahhh not that good,” she managed, and the man went back to his work.

The girls had a good laugh about it on the two hour drive back, “What an awkward comment!

Nine days, a wedding, four days of camping in a small tent, tramping all over Yosemite with their bibles, a day of rock climbing, being mistaken for sisters (and mother/daughter), meeting crazy people, brushing their teeth in the street, 24 hours in the car and hoards of adventures later, they were sitting at a picnic table in the dark, somewhere in the mountains, talking.

One of them remarked on how they both had such similar taste, “I mean we never have to argue about what kind of music to listen to, we get the same kind of coffee where ever we go, we like the same kinds of food, and the same kinds of activities. It’s kind of a good thing...”

“I know! It’s a really good thing… Otherwise I don’t know how the ten days would have gone. To be completely honest I was kind of wondering how good idea this was,” said the CA girl. “I was thinking, ‘I liked her at Photoj and all, but that was two years ago..”

“Since we’re being honest… I had the same thoughts!” admitted the one who came to visit, “What if we didn’t have any of the same tastes!? What if we didn’t get along very well and had to spend all that time together?!?”  The two laughed about how unfounded their fears had turned out to be, and tried to ignore the fact that they wouldn’t be together in another day.

The next night was her last night in Cali. She cuddled up on the floor while her friend crawled into bed. “What are you doing down there?!? Get up here and bring your pillow!”

She laughed, “I guess maybe, by now, we are ‘that good of friends’.”