The Devil is on Earth

We’ve lived in the city for five years now. I suppose, then, it only makes sense that things would change today.

After all, there is something about the number five.

Nirvana really only had five good years. And I hear they’re going for a fifth Indiana Jones film; I think we all know how that’s gonna turn out. I mean, thank God they stopped at four with that mid-90’s Batman series.

Anyway, five years.

I’ve loved every second of it. Quaint apartment with a small, trendy movie theater right down the street, the best Indian food I’ve ever had in the opposite direction, and the firm just a short busride away.

She, well, she has to feel the same.

She smiles when we she sees a preview for an upcoming rom-com.

And when she eats that eggplant dish from the Indian place.

And at night. She smiles at night.

She did it last night, but I can’t be sure she’ll do it again tonight.

It was the busride home from work, same route as every other day.

Same characters too.

There was the old black woman at the front of the bus, holding her walker throughout the ride and gripping it a little tighter on the turns. Next to her was the little girl coming home from school. She had an olive complexion, and always wore some variation of polka dots. She and the old black woman liked to talk, couldn’t tell you what about.

As always, towering over the both of them was the homeless man. Or at least he sure as hell looked homeless, dirty clothes and unkempt beard. He always delivered these soliloquies, a bunch of nonsense if you ask me.

“C’mon sweetheart,” he began today. “Get off the dang phone.”

He was talking to the little girl, likely texting her mother. The homeless man grabbed the device from her hands, and hoisted it up in the air.

“You wanna hear somethin’ everybody?” he continued, raising his voice. “The devil is on earth. I mean it. The devil’s on earth and he’s in each and every one of your pockets.”

As those last few words rolled off the homeless man’s tongue, the bus doors swung open. Today, this stop was his—it changed everyday—and as the bus spat him out, it welcomed in an altogether different face.

This girl, she was pretty, but not in an obvious sort of way. You had to search for her beauty, even if for just a little. She wore a bottle green beanie and an army green jacket.

She walked past the old black woman and the little girl coming home from school. She walked past all the silent suits and all the earbudded everydays.

Smiling all the while, she walked down the aisle until she stopped and sat in the seat next to mine. I kicked my briefcase closer to the wall and sent a text:

Indian place tonight?

The girl took out a pair of earbuds and plugged them into her phone. She did not, however, place the earbuds in her ears. While the rest of the passengers filled their skulls with their favorite sounds, she presented herself with just the illusion of an escape, opting to remain in her reality.

“Nice coat.”

I think I jumped. Her smile grew a little bigger.

“Your coat. I like your coat,” she said through a giggle.

It was a coal peacoat. I liked it too, but never had I gotten a compliment on it.

“Th-thank you.” I said with some finality in my voice.

She arched her head over mine to look out the window. Not much to see. Just buildings, really.

She muttered something to herself before pressing her face into her thighs, assuming a defensive position of sorts.

Things stayed that way for a little while, as the bus soon came to a stop. I had grown accustomed to city traffic, but this felt particularly excessive.

I imagined Keanu Reeves bursting through the doors of the bus, warning us of the bomb strapped to the vehicle.

Eventually, the driver— a chubby, blonde, middle-aged somebody— grew impatient, as had the rest of us. Even the girl had resorted to her reality-escape-buds by now.

The driver took a hard turn, trying to circumvent whatever it was that was holding us up.

What the driver did not see— admittedly, what none of us saw— was the “DO NOT ENTER” sign warning drivers who dared to challenge its singular direction.

An expletive or two leaped out of the bus driver’s mouth as he realized his error. The elderly black woman grabbed the little girl, and many others began to look around nervously. The girl at my side continued to hide in her legs.

Horns blared unsurprisingly, and while undoubtedly concerned, I began to think about the Tikka Masala awaiting me later tonight. This would all be over soon anyway, right?

Of course, my thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud bang. And then another. Five loud bangs, to be exact.

I suppose the bus driver’s ability could only get us so far.

I began to fear for the other cars on the road, ants to the bus’s man. Then, despite my resistance, I began to fear for those of us on the bus. Even the girl had peaked her head up by now, even if she still seemed unconcerned.

The old black woman shouted something to the driver, evidently concerned for her safety and that of the child. The bus hadn’t slowed down. If anything, it continued to speed up. I took this ride everyday; was I really going to die?

Then, the bus began to tip.

In a burst of adrenaline, I grabbed the girl. I didn’t get a chance to see her initial reaction. I held onto her tightly as the bus began to roll. I hit my head on my seat and I felt her slipping through my arms, but I gripped her tighter. My head then slammed against the window, fracturing the glass, as the bus completed its tumble and began to slide. I felt woozy as I squeezed the girl tightly in my arms. I heard cries, but I couldn’t quite confirm that they were hers. Still, I continued to squeeze until I couldn’t remember where I was or what I was doing. Even then, I couldn’t help but think one single thought.

I was a hero.

The girl lifted her now beanieless head, somehow still smiling. She removed one of her earbuds— like her smile, miraculously still in place— and placed it in my ear. Music drowned out the oncoming sirens and horns.

I smiled back at the girl.

She dug her head into my shoulder and something about that motion sent shivers down my spine.

The devil, I thought to myself.

The devil is on earth.