Packed bus

the bus was incredibly packed today. Every seat was filled and at least a dozen people stood, clutching the rails. A man with braces on his teeth but no wire to straighten them. A sphere of a woman. I wished I had picked darker sunglasses. I wanted so terribly to openly stare at these strange people but every time I did, I felt their gaze on mine. I settled on staring at a woman on the opposite side of the bus from me. All I could see was her hair but that's all I really needed. It was fascinating. Jet black and plastic looking. She had braided it into a zillion tiny braids but oddly enough, only part of it. Small, smooth locks pushed themselves between the braids. I wondered if her hairdresser just hadn't finished the job or got lazy halfway through and decided it was a new look that this woman was now destined to rock. Unfortunately however it looked as if she had cut it herself. The layers were chunky and jagged. The way her hair all came to one point on her head made it seen like it was a wig. I could see her, sitting in her tattered nightgown, her wispy hair matted down onto her scalp with sweat, slowly cutting her wig in front of her vanity mirror. As if she came up with a new hair style everyday to impress her friends with.
"why Courtney, your hair is always a vision!" they'd say. They'd compliment her on her ingenuity, her ability to completely adapt her hair to every situation.
I used to think I had this ability, constantly dying my hair, cutting it and then growing it out long. But after one too many hair cutting mistakes and after nearly chopping off an ear, I resolved to only allowing someone with a professional license touch my hair.

It was even more packed in the afternoon. By the time the bus reached my stop at the mall, there was standing room only. It made me think if there were regulations on how many people can board the bus before it's considered a hazard. Anyway, as I was doing my best to watch people without them knowing, I happened to glance down at an elderly woman sitting to my left. She was dressed as well as can be expected: Hawaiian shirt with jeans that rode up her leg when she sat, casual tennis shoes with no socks, a black bag slug over her neck and her hair was pulled up and on top of her head with a scrunchie. I was thinking about the last time I saw a scrunchie and how it must have been at least fifteen years ago, when I noticed a woman to my right. She was dressed entirely in black with gold jewelry. The neck of her dress scooped low revealing a large portion of her breasts. There was a sliver of red poking out the neck of her dress, it was lacy and nearly transparent. Her thigh high boots said "fuck me now" as opposed to the "I like things comfortable" retort from the woman's shoes to my right.

My eyes volleyed between the two women. I was loving the juxtaposition of their outfits and how completely opposite they were. Suddenly, as the old woman was putting a tissue in the breast pocket of her shirt, the top buttons separated revealing her large breasts nestled in a flesh toned bra. At first she didn't notice but after a moment she shrieked and clutched her shirt together. The woman across from her laughed and the woman next to her drolly glanced over. "my shirt's come undone." she whispered to the woman next to her. Trying to help, she held up her backpack in an attempt to shield on lookers while she buttoned up.
"you don't have to hold that thing up, honey. Ain't no body gonna look at that geaser's titties." the woman to my right cackled. Everyone ignored her but she was persistent.
"were you looking, sweetie?"
It took me a moment before I realized she was looking right at me. I couldn't breathe. This is the EXACT reason why I put on my headphones and sunglasses. I didn't want to be bothered, asked for anything or touched. I looked around at the other passengers for help, answers. They just looked back at me with the same blank expressions. I said the first thing that came to my mind.
"mango." what the fuck? Why the hell did I say mango? That's not even close to yes or no or any of the numerous answers I could have given.
"excuse me? Did you say mango?" the slutty woman was staring me down with one eyebrow raised.
"um... No I said, 'hell no.'" I sputtered out the words as if I were an old jalopy about to break down.
"see, Hun? Ain't no body looking at your titties so you just let them air out if they need to." the slutty woman told the still embarrassed woman, seemingly to forget exactly how many people were crammed into the bus. She smiled and sat back in her chair, "now these girls," she added to the sleeping man beside her, pushing up her voluptuous breasts, "I bet he WAS looking at." She looked me dead in the eyes out of the corner of hers. I could feel my face flush and I was beginning to become just like the elderly woman. Again, I resorted to the first thing I could think of: I stared straight ahead and started making a grocery list...
- milk
- plastic bags
- not mangoes