All Mine.

short story.


Could he be an investment banker?
No. Not cool enough.
An architect?
Now, yeah. Thats cool.
An architect. She smiles

Sara is staring straight ahead now, as they rumble down the road.
How lovely to be married to an architect, spending your lazy Sundays by the fire, talking about the dream home while he sketches away. Her lips curl up in a little half smile, and she closes her eyes. The sun is beginning to rise, filtering gently through the morning mist to warm the cabin.

The bus rocks gently from side to side, cradling her wishful thinking, until it lurches over a pothole and her eyes flicker open.

She steals a glance sideways and feels the familiar strain behind her eyes, as she tries to look without looking. He is fiddling absently with his shirt button, and as he stares out the window, a fine stream of condensation is forming on the window where his breath blows gently. Sara can tell that he is daydreaming.

He is rather lovely to look at, you know. Quite striking. And the beauty of their daily ritual meant that she saw him, on this route, every single day. He did not know how much she adored him, loved him. Yes, love was a strong word for a stranger, but Sara believed she truly did. She loved how he sat, how he played with his hair, and how in the afternoons on the way home, he would doze, head pressed to the window, mouth slightly parted. And she fantasised that he was hers
“All mine”.
To kiss and to cuddle, and to greet him when he got home, to soothe him after a long day, and be warmed by his boyish grin.
He is glancing over now, his solemn eyes moving around the bus. He is absently scanning the passengers, following their movements. He has seen her! He recognises her face as a regular on the bus, and smiles, before returning to his view out of the window, his fingers reaching up to toy with his shirt buttons again.
Sara’s heart swells and she tries not to grin like a fool. Yes, today is going to be a good day, being cooped up in the office will pass like a dream, and that smile of his will carry her through the day.

As the time passes, she is ever closer to disembarking. Couldn’t she just ride this bus with him forever? But of course he too, would have to get off at his own stop, and that would break her heart. And she would feel empty again, as she always does when he leaves her each day. And that ache would return.

She desires for him to be hers. To run her long fingers through his thick dark hair, gently dragging the long curls out until they bounce back to his scalp. She’d like for him to be an architect, and maybe one day far away, she will ask him. And he will say yes, and invite her to visit the buildings that he will build all over the world.
But he isn’t hers.

Its his stop, and she yearns for him to stay near her. But like every other day, he picks up his bag and prepares to leave her all alone. He saunters down the aisle, with all the carefree attitudes of a 4 year old. As he passes her, he smiles one last time, before grabbing his mummy’s hand. He is swung down the steps with a whooshing sound and he squeals gleefully, clapping his hands in delight as he lands. Sara watches him longingly, one hand on her stomach where the baby once was, as the bus pulls away from the school.
.