On Fish And Cloud Street

• Laura Liefting, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2013

A dull night.
The streets were empty and the streetlights stood as silent sentinels, casting their glow along the lonely footpath. Moths crowded them for attention in a frenzied riot.
I stood under one, next to the aged old bus stop on the corner of Fish and Cloud Street.
My phone had made an agreement with the street, staying silent for some time.
I was waiting for a call.
But instead, I got a stranger.
She’d appeared silently from the shadows and taken her place on the cracked wooden bench, like she’d done it a million times before. Afraid of being caught staring, I snuck a glance at her.
Instantly I noticed her eyes. They were a deep, intense blue like a frozen ocean. They hypnotised me for a moment too long.

“Do you mind?” She frowned at me, noticing me noticing her.

“Sorry.” I apologised meekly. I resumed staring into the black distance. After a moment she sighed,

“Do you know when the bus gets here?” Her voice was clear like ice too.

“Sorry, no.” I replied, thinking about all the reasons she could be here. Was it for the same reason as me? “I’m Toby.” I offered my hand. She stared at it like I’d offered her a beehive.

“Ruby.” Was her simple reply. She looked off into the distance, avoiding further conversation.
I checked my phone. No reception.

“So, where are you headed?” I asked, she shrugged.

“Away from here.” She glanced my way, “And you?”

I pondered my answer, “I don’t know either.” That was our agreement on this night. Even the fluttering moths would know our destinations better. A ghostly light flickered down the road, weaving between the trees like a lost soul. Without words, she nodded knowing the bus was coming.
We heard the squealing of the fanbelt as it hauled itself to our stop. The last hundred metres were an agonising crawl, as if even the bus had lost its will to live.
It stopped with a shudder and the doors opened to reveal a driver as jaded as the machine.
I pushed off the streetlight I’d been leaning on and took a step onto the pale-lighted doorway. Ruby had not moved.

“Are you coming?” I stopped and looked back.

“No. There’s one person enough for this bus.” She paused, “But I hope you get to where you’re going.” And the tiniest of grins. The doors shut before me.

“Next stop, the port.” The driver rattled. Ruby remained seated, looking at me through the scratched, dusty window. Again. Those blue eyes.
The bus pulled away with the flicker of the moth-harassed streetlights. Even for just a moment longer, I looked into her eyes, growing distant with every passing streetlight. I wanted to know where she was going.
Maybe… she did know where I was going, when even the moths didn’t.