Characters: The Perpetual Bus Stop Dancer

by D. C. Haddock

He’s alone, at the bus stop. He’s maybe eighteen, of Latino heritage, and possesses an angelic face; it’s a face no mother could deny. He looks around occasionally, maybe to see if anyone’s paying attention, maybe to watch for his ride; either way, he’s alone at the bus stop. But he honestly doesn’t seem to care. There’s no music, but he’s kind of strangely bouncing around to a ghostly beat, muttering what I assume to be lyrics occasionally at the cars that pass by, as if they could hear him. He loses his baseball hat at one point and runs out into the street to retrieve it, and then reverts back to his previous state of music-less bliss. He’s rocking back and forth, shifting from one foot to the other, almost like a bizarre mating ritual common among birds of paradise. There’s no methodic calculation or choreographic ingenuity, no concern or misgivings apparent on his young face. His eyes are closed, and he is closed, shut away from the world.

A random passerby might see him and think “People are so strange,” and walk away. They would be correct. But as I watch, I envy him completely. He’s gone, in a place of his own creation, available for inhabitation whenever he needs it; he’s trained himself so well, is so fine tuned to his own channel that he doesn’t even need to carry his music with him. It’s always there. I can see it flowing through his mind. He, like so many of us, will be a victim of his own ideals; but in those few precious moments, before a car pulls up next to him and beeps, knocking him out of his ecstasy, he is perpetual.

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