I sit in my bus seat hoping I don’t look too sweaty. Deep breaths. BUT DON’T LOOK like you’re panicking. She’s sitting across the isle today. Every day on my commute to and from work, there she is. I’d like to tell her how beautiful she looks. No, I don’t think women appreciate that from strangers. Do they?

What can I say, hey, come here often? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever thought. I noticed we take the same bus every day...want to grab coffee? Somehow that’s worse. I’ve gotta be smoother.

Today’s Friday. If I don’t say something today, it will haunt me the rest of the weekend until I see her again on Monday. Then the real torture will start, the anxiety of wanting to say something and not doing it for a whole other week.

I glance back at her. She’s sitting with her head tilted against the window, the sun shining on her closed eyes, nodding slightly to music. I should really wait until she can see me coming. Don’t want to ambush someone you’re trying to ask out.

Four stops now and she’s still resting her eyes. At least I’ve had a long time to think of what to say. Goddammit, I’m overthinking this. Looking out the window, I realize we’re only three blocks from my stop. Shit. Shit. Shit. Looking over, I see her taking her ear buds out and looking around. Here’s my chance.

Before I can lift my ass, a guy slides into the seat next to her. His hair is perfect, just like his suit. That’s demoralizing. One block left. He said something funny, she’s laughing. He’s making a suggestion. The bus stops. I hop off in disgust, frustration, disappointment.

****

Doing the only thing that came to mind, I got good and drunk. Apocalyptically drunk, some might say. Light burns my red eyes as I stand at the bus stop, waiting to get back across downtown to my apartment. I don’t mind looking disheveled after a good night of drinking, that’s how you know you’ve done it right.

The bus pulls up. I grab a seat and off we go. My heartbeat pulses in my head somehow. I crack my neck and look over to find...her, sitting across from me. She looks disheveled too, staring ahead with a spaced out look. I want to talk to her. Barely thinking, I cross the isle and sit next to her.

“Morning,” I say. “I don’t know if you recognize me, but we take the same bus to work and back every day.” My headache gets worse.

She smiles, “Yeah, I’ve seen you around. I’m Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Kevin.” I rub my eyes as the glare from the window flashes quickly on my face. It feels like my retinas are melting. “I’m sort of hung over-”

“You don’t say,” she cuts me off. Her red eyes probably feel like they’re melting too.

“I was going to grab some coffee, would that sound good to you?”

“You grabbing some coffee? Sure, I’m not your mom,” Sarah laughs to herself, somewhere between amusement and the vacant headspace of the hangover. “Na, I could use some coffee.” I smiled, too hungover to overthink anything. For a moment, I thought about becoming an alcoholic so talking to Sarah could always be this effortless.