The Driver Stops the Bus
Diane lasted until the traffic lights.
"Driver!" she shouted down the stairs. "I want this man removed."
The word removed made Liam's stomach tighten.
He imagined being dragged into a scene bigger than the foot. He imagined missing his appointment at St. Bartholomew's training office. He imagined trying to explain to a supervisor that he had been late because a stranger's shoe had become a court case on a bus.
The driver pulled into the next stop and came halfway up the stairs, one hand on the rail, face already tired.
"What happened?" he asked.
Diane pointed at Liam with the confidence of people used to being believed first.
"He shoved the armrest into my leg."
Before Liam could answer, the old man stood. Carefully. Slowly. The bus seemed to make room for him without moving.
"She had her shoe on his seat," he said.
The woman with the phone added, 'On his armrest. He asked her to move it.'
A man from the back called, 'Twice, pretty much.'
The driver looked at the armrest, then at the shoe, then at Diane's red face.
"Feet stay on the floor," he said.
"That's it?" Diane demanded.
"That's the rule most people learn before nursery," the driver replied.
A laugh broke from somewhere near the back. It was small, then it spread, not cruel enough to be dangerous, just honest enough to sting.
Diane's mouth tightened.
The driver looked at Liam.
"You all right?"
Liam nodded once.
"Yeah. Thank you."
May you like
The driver went back downstairs. The doors hissed shut.
For the first time since boarding, Liam had the armrest to himself.
