Questions on the Walk Home
Published in The Stag Magazine, 2022 and Highly Commended at the Student Publication National Awards 2023
Is the bus going to arrive? Is my back against the wall of the shelter? Can anyone get behind me? Are those people over there looking at me? Has anyone seen me in these clothes today?
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The silhouette in the distance. Is that a man in a black coat? A kid? It’s too still to be human. Or are they just pretending to be still to make me think it’s not a person?
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The bus is late. Roar of an engine and it comes barrelling round the corner. Rising panic when I think it’s not pulling into the stop. Panic over. Climb on, choose a seat with a view of everyone. Watch the dark rush past and the people get on and off, standing up and sitting down. People on a night out. People on their way back from a day in the library. People like me. When is too early to go into my bag for my keys? Not while the person behind me can see what I’m holding. Wait til they’re off. Now I can get them out. Conceal in my fist.
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Stare at the app, following my little blue dot as we get closer and closer to my stop. How early is too early to ring the bell? I don’t want the others to know when I’m getting off. But I don’t want the driver to pass it.
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Ring the bell. The bus stops. Headphones out, keys are in my fist. Mask stays on- why do I feel more invisible like this? Say goodnight and thank you to the bus driver in a way I hope he will be able to remember if the police question him in the morning.
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A rush of cold air. The lights of the bus are the only ones in the street. My eyes adjust to the dark. The bus is waiting for cars in the oncoming lane. While it’s stationary, try to march as quickly as I can- still in view of everyone onboard. A race between me and an unfeeling beast. Then it’s driving past me, lights gliding away like a ghost and I’m left in the inky dark wondering if the noise behind me is my own footsteps. Its roar echoes against the houses and then disappears into the distance. Silent. I’m alone.
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I’m only two minutes from home. It’s fine. But was there always that dark shadow by the hedge over there? Why did I rent a house next to a park? I hope my location is still being shared across the air to my friends who can’t do anything but watch and hope I don’t divert from our well-trodden path.
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Calm down. There’s no point panicking when in five minutes time I’ll be making a drink in the kitchen. Plus, I have plans tomorrow. Things to do. People to see. Nothing’s going to happen because I’ve got life round the corner, waiting.
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But that’s what everyone thought when the others walked home. From their friends, from work, from uni, from school, from nowhere in particular. They had things going on and suddenly they didn’t any more.
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Planning my life, where to live. The word ‘safest’ goes in front of every search. Paying extra for houses closer to university, to a friend, to the nearest streetlight.
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Choosing which bus stop to stand under in the dark. Which one has the brightest glow from the announcement board? Which one has the best chance that the bus won’t be full when it arrives, and won’t leave me waiting in the dark because there’s only two every hour. Which one has another girl standing at it? I’ll pick that one. Exchange a glance - never full eye contact - and there’s solidarity between us. I hope that girl got home safe.
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Someone’s out walking their dog and I swerve into the road to avoid being pressed up against the garden hedges. Too many dark corners there.
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Turn into my road. Turn around and check no one else watched me do this. Did the dog walker keep on his way? Does he know I came down here? Even if he did, I tell myself he won’t be able to distinguish my house from the rest of them.
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Shining windows of home. I’m glad they left the outside lamp on to light my path, keys outstretched and thrust into the lock. Throw my weight against the door, feet stumble on the welcome mat and the hinges creak as my back presses it shut. The outside world is trapped outside. Chain clinking on the wood, picked up and slotted into place. Ha. Try getting through to me now, outside.
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Switch the light off. We’re back again for another night. This door opens tomorrow morning and not a moment before I choose. Phone out of my pocket and I click through the one, two, three different apps that are sharing my location to one, two, three different friendship groups. They’ll be on their guard for me again tomorrow.