I never look at who I sit next to on the bus. Some people ask for permission to sit, some people evaluate their options before settling on the lessor evil, some people even play musical chairs hopping from seat to seat as better options open up. But not me, I just don’t choose at all. The first seat I can get to I take. That way I never have to know if I’m sitting next to someone I should feel bad for or be afraid of; I never have to know if the bag they’re holding is alive or if their sniffles are due to allergies. Hell, one time I didn’t even know the person next to me had a dog until he stood up. I like to treat every seatmate with the same courtesy, little to no contact. So when the guy I was sitting next to on the bus a few weeks ago said something to me, I hadn’t even looked at him before I started to reply.

The man, or so I assumed from the voice, had offered to move so one of my friends could sit down with me. Looking to see who he meant, I saw, of course, the only one of my coworkers left standing was Mike, the guy I’d been avoiding all day. With a sly smile on my face I turned back to my seatmate and told him that Mike liked to stand.

My voice trailed off as my eyes registered the absurd attractiveness of the man sitting next to me. I blinked a few extra times to make sure he was even real. This boy was swoon worthy; like really, really ridiculously good looking; like the kind of attractive you never see on buses, much less get to sit next to. His white smile stood out against his warm brown skin and his arms gave me flashes of how far he could throw me. In my haze I even thought he might be a celebrity. This guy was out of my league. 

He took out his head phones and laughed as I fumbled to explain why Mike didn’t deserve a seat. I smiled nervously as I described how crowded this bus is usually so Mike was used to having to stand. “And besides,” I told him, “between you and me, he deserves it.”

It felt good to be mean to Mike out loud; he and I had gotten too flirtatious earlier in the week and I was in the process of trying to distance myself from him and his live in girlfriend. I’d managed a day long boycott of meaningful glances and inappropriate confessions, so sitting next to him was not an option.

But before I knew it my seat mate and I were talking, like really talking. We were laughing and flirting and teasing and sharing. The first time he elbowed me I’m pretty sure my heart stopped. The second time I pushed right back. When he asked about my future I was candid and when I asked about his family he was sentimental. I turned back to look at Mike once or twice, hoping he’d see me flirting. I was eager to make him jealous, like he and his ‘stale’ girlfriend had made me. But if he was he didn’t let on, so I closed my eyes and fortified myself, turning back to my new guy to move on. And move on I did.

He told me about where he grew up; I talked about the Mormon values that had rubbed off on me. He asked about my job; I questioned him about his roommates. He complained about the heat; I told him I belong to the mountains. I haven’t clicked that well with a stranger in years.

When I confessed that I fall asleep on the bus frequently he balked, teasing that if he fell asleep on the bus some tall girl would try to swipe his wallet. I didn’t miss a beat when I said how smooth my moves were but I repeated his words over again in my head as we bantered. Tall girl, he’d said, meaning me, though I was sitting. A few minutes later he brought it up again, calling me tall girl like it was my name, like it was a compliment. It was, I suppose, but to hear it out loud like that was jarring; I didn’t know what to make of it. If he had called me beautiful I would have shut off, knowing he was just throwing me lines and playing the pick-up game, but complimenting me with the words tall girl wasn’t something I could really fault him for. It showed he paid attention and wasn’t afraid of teasing me; that he liked me but wasn’t trying to be too forward. And as odd as it was, the line worked.

I lost track of time, fully focusing on the palpable tension. I didn’t even notice Mike get off at his stop. When he asked what I was doing later my stomach knotted. Fuck, I thought. I’m in trouble now; if he asked for my number I’d have to give it. He hadn’t messed up. He’d deftly avoided all my traps and even after a half hour of deep conversation there wasn’t a red flag in sight. If I couldn’t reward that with at least a phone number then what was I waiting for? He was a perfect, interested, available guy and all I wanted was to jump off at the next stop and run.

I was grateful when he didn’t ask, though he made it clear where he’d be if I’d like to join him lounging in the Seattle park-again deftly finagling his way through my minefield. And just when I was inches away from agreeing to spend an hour with him, I thought of Mike. I thought of his girlfriend, of their boring, mediocre life together and how sad I felt for him. And for the first time all summer I didn’t want to save him from it. I smiled to myself and knew that I’d never really wanted all of Mike. And that all I wanted to do that Friday night was hang out at home alone.

As my stop approached my bus date thanked me and wished me the best, reminding me to keep an eye out for him. I did the same, giving him one last smile before standing to leave. I didn’t turn back as he watched his tall girl walk away. After all, I don’t look at people I sit next to on buses.