@ The Bus Stop

Some freestyle writing I did before falling asleep with my face on the laptop, like a nerd. Nothing special, I was just messing around. Eh, Rubbish.

@ THE BUS STOP

That particular night was just like any other in the Adams Morgan area of Washington, DC. The bro’s and hoes were out partying in the streets, and the live bands played in the background to the active bars and restaurants as the beer and liquor flowed endlessly.

I looked down one minute and swallowed over a dozen shots, only to look up the next to see how late the night had become. Two in the morning was as late as I’ve ever stayed out. Despite being a delinquent teenager in my mother’s eyes, I was still never comfortable with staying out so late.

Upon noticing the time, I stood to my feet and staggered out of the bar in direction to the nearest bus stop on Columbia Road. The area was quiet and the bench area was empty, which was a surprise on a Friday night. I waited for some drunk ditsy blonde to come staggering up the street, but I did that already.

While seated at the bus stop, I did what any bored woman my age would do: go through my smart phone and find someone interesting to text. Either that or mess around on Facebook until my bus arrived. My attention was instantly taken off of my phone’s bright display screen to observe the man who arrived to join me in the wait for the bus.

He was a tall black guy with a muscular build and in dire need of a shave and haircut. He was dressed in the standard delinquent attire for black men: white v-neck tee shirt and blue jeans with a pair of clean Jordan brand sneakers. I never was attracted to black men, let alone their horrible choice of clothing. I could never understand why they choose to wear that style set, knowing police often identify criminals to that description.

His appearance and presence set me on edge a bit, so I crossed my legs and tucked the top of my dress in between my thighs, praying to god this guy wasn’t some sicko rapist. I’d rather be robbed than raped.

He sat next to me, which was way too close for comfort. I checked around the area, hoping to see one of my friends stroll pass and watch over me. I also made sure the black guy was alone. I’ve seen enough movies to know they usually travel in packs when up to no good. He was alone, but still a threat in my book.

Just as I attempted to move toward the end of the bench and put space in between us, An older white guy arrived and took that spot, sitting on the end to place me in the center of the two. I was a bit relieved to have the old white guy there, even if he did look pretty weird. Yet still, I put my phone away and gripped my purse as hard as I could.

The black guy noticed my securing the bag, looking up at me to see the fear in my eyes, as he responded with a chuckle under his breath. I forced him to change his strategy, and maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

He turned in my direction, staring at my purse like an animal hunting prey. I then moved my purse away from him, slightly turning in the direction of the older white male seated next to me. The black guy leaned forward, his hands tense while rising from his lap. And just as my legs began to tremble…

SNATCH!

It happened so fast, My body froze still while trying to figure out how my purse was easily pulled from my hands. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t the black man who did it.

Both men ran across the street, but the old white guy tripped over his own loose unlaced shoes. Standing over him on the sidewalk was the black guy, pulling my purse from the frightened old man. He allowed the prune to run off with nothing gained. The black guy then walked back across the street and stood in front of me with my purse in hand.

“You gotta be more careful out here, girl.” he said to me as if he were my dad. He then raised his hand to hold the purse in front of me, allowing me to grab it from him.

“I was careful,” I said as my bottom lip quivered. “I just thought… I thought you were going to… You know.”

He had a good laugh from my assumption that he was going to steal my purse and share my account numbers with his buddies back in the hood.

“You’ve seen way too many movies.” he said in-between laughter, taking a seat next to me as he did before. Though I was more at ease with his presence, that fear I once felt was now replaced with embarrassment.

We look back and laugh at it now. That night being the night I first met the man who’d later be my husband. Lesson learned, never judge a man by his appearance.

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