The Five Million Dollar Lady

• Eden Crain, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2019

Large brown plastic glasses cover half her face. Pale powdered and pulled taut skin emerging underneath their shadow. She wears a thin perm and a tight top, and a grin from between frankfurt lips that makes the back of my knees cave. She is way too close. I stumble back towards the driver, flailing for a yellow hanger thing before my school bag has me turtled. “Does this bus stop at the station honey?”. I shiver. “Honey”. Never will I call someone honey. I blink at my reflection in the deep brown goggles posed much nearer to my nose than I would have opted for. “Uh yeah, last stop, no need to push the button ''. I consider that this was not my most helpful response but settle that I cannot be blamed for being out of sorts.
The botox lady smiles even wider than before. “thanks darling”. I can feel the bile rising in my throat.
The bus driver pulls hard on the hand break and I feel my insides jostle. And the strange woman doesn’t sit down. The entire time that the little green man flashes on the street below, even until he decides to stay at red, she maintains that uncomfortable distance. As the seconds lengthen I feel my cheeks start to redden under the shade of my wide brimmed navy hat. Surely she is uncomfortable leaning over the seat like that. Judging by the angle that the seat is cutting into her chest her ribs must be tiny. The silence is broken. I jump. “I’m gonna make a lot of money today.” I turn my head to meet the overly ecstatic smile being thrown at me. “Oh, well...”. What do I say to that? The bus pulls away and i’m saved from needed to find a response. Leaning even further than I thought into my personal bubble she whispered very loudly; “5 million dollars.”
A glitzed hand tipped with long crimson enamel waves all fingers extended in front of my nose. She pulls it away to lovingly pat the oversized silver suitcase at her knees. I had been too put off by her face to notice anything else about her, let alone to register her abnormally large carry on.
Quite in shock I simply watch as she struggles with heaving the luggage onto the curb. Even the bus driver has gotten out by the time I venture to follow.
Later on the crowded train I recall the traumatic experience to my year 12 acquaintance. She shakes her delicate ironed hair slightly and chuckles at my distress. “Probably gonna rob a bank or something.”.
2 years later I still remember the experience vividly. Chillingly. Not only do I remember it but I actually scream when I stroll into the lecture theatre to find a thin faced, frankfurt lipped, bleach dyed woman standing in front of the room. The washed out projector displays, How to be successful in business.