Mosaic Monologues
Sapphire’s blues
The sound of rain hitting the concrete. The sound of footsteps frantically walking. Heavy breathing.
I can hear the gossip on the eyes of the windows. Mutter after mutter. House after house. People’s curtains are closing real tight. They’re not looking for a fight. Not with me anyway. Just wanna be commentators, as per usual on the estate. Everyone’s eyes are in the window when shit kicks off after eight. I pace down the street, still vexed, seeing red. Turn the corner. Make a quick right. Not really looking as I cross the road. Cars blazing fast. An amalgamation of lights in the dead of the night. But damn, that shit is bright. The screeching of wheels ring out, and then… BAM.
The sound of a bus door opening and footsteps getting on. Noise and chatter fill the bus.
I hop on the bus. Sit in some worn down seat. No destination in mind. Watch the souls hop on and hop off. This bus is busy, like it’s drifting through a constant loop. Bells ringing. Wheels screeching. It’s crowded. A carousel of bodies. People sat in their own little worlds. That’s what I love about the bus: people-watching. I just wonder what they’re thinking about. I scan the bus, and this girl catches my eye. Music thumping out her AirPods. Hair done up in a plait. A tiny little red thong just showing on the hips above her baggy jeans, making me bite my bottom lip. Can’t take my eyes off her. Mouthing the lyrics. No care in the world.
She lifts her head up. Smiles a smile that makes it feel like there’s no one else on this bus, just us. Takes her right AirPod out. Says, ‘Can I help you sir?’
I hit her with, ‘I was just wondering if I could be the Kendrick to your SZA?’
She laughs. A cackle that makes my heart melt, like witchcraft, feeling things I’ve never felt. Anger’s gone. No longer seeing red, just butterflies filling my heart. Overwhelming thoughts in my head.
She asks if I wanna listen as she hands me one AirPod. Goes I could be like her and be on this bus for a very long time. I stick it in my ear as I sit next to her. We sit there together, listening as Luther starts (sings), ‘If this world were mine.’ I see the words forming on her lips as we quietly sing to each other. Catching each other’s gaze, then tryna play it cool. Our pinkies, the first thing to touch and connect as our hands are resting by the sides of us. It’s just us. No one else matters. I take on the words of Kendrick, and she sings along to SZA. I look at the mask on her lips; a smile hiding the pain of how she really feels.
I pull her up into the aisle, hold her close as we dance like we’re at a silent disco on the bus. My arms around her hips as her arms rest on my shoulders, and we sing to each other. I move her hair around her ear so I can see into her eyes. The gateway to the soul, like a kaleidoscope of emotions all there in her sapphire blues. Happiest I’ve felt since Tommy left. She wipes the tear from my eye, and I can’t lie, I crumble on this bus. Her softness and ability to see me as human. I return the favour, catch her tear on the tip of my index finger along with one of her eyelashes. Say, ‘Make a wish,’ as she blows the eyelash and the wish into existence. In this universe of infinite possibilities, what are the chances we have found the one, that no matter what you done, or the shit past you’re running from, they understand in the unspoken?
‘Who’d you lose?’ she asks, as she recognises the emptiness of loss inside, like I see hers in the mirrors that are her eyes.
‘My twin brother, Tommy. The pressure of being a man meant his head was fucked. Life got too much. Committed suicide little over a year ago.’
She squeezes my hand tight.
The mask on my lips starts to form. ‘What about you then?’
Silence for a moment, before she whispers, ‘Myself,’ like some cryptic dialogue that I somehow understand. Her eyes are staring dead straight at me, and I can feel the butterfly wings in her stomach flapping because of the nerves.
I wrap my arms around her. Cuddle her. In my head, I’m thinking, if this world were mine, I’d take away all your pain so you’d never have to wear a mask. Everyone could see the beauty I see. Like I’d have magical powers to revive these broken things, like kintsugi. Make you see yourself exactly how I see you. Then you wouldn’t need a mask.
I gently tell her, ‘I’m sorry. Nothing worse than losing yourself.’
She goes, ‘Don’t be sorry. You’re the first one to actually see me. Three years I’ve been on this bus. It’s like I was invisible. Just like when I was alive, I guess.’
I cut her up with, ‘What d’you mean three years? You can’t have been on a bus for three years?’
She cups my face softly. ‘Oh sweetie, haven’t you heard? It’s a bit absurd, but this bus can go for eternity until you’re ready to get off.’
I’m like, ‘Nah, what you chatting about? This is buki. How can you be on a bus for three years?’
She tells me to look up at the destination screen.
THE AFTERLIFE
‘What do you remember before you got on the bus?’
I’m thinking…
Sounds of rain start to creep in. We are going back in time. Sounds of knocking on a front door can be heard, getting louder and more aggressive. No answer.
She just ignored me. Left me outside in the rain. Wouldn’t even open the door to me, pretending like I wasn’t there. Taking the absolute piss. My stuff packed in black bags and cardboard boxes. And it was pissing down with rain, so it all got proper soggy. She was the one who started it all. I wanted to call it quits. But she kept going on and on, then wonders why I flip. It seems silly to think it was all over fifty quid. Stupid, but it wasn’t about the money. It was the principle of it. She thinks because I’m her son that she can take the piss. I wasn’t having it. She may be my mum, but the fact of the matter is I’m no dickhead. She may have carried me for nine months, but that’s irrelevant. I’ll admit I was pretty blunt, and I did call her a cunt. As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Went for a walk to calm down, clear my head. The way she’s been acting lately. (Kisses his teeth.)
(Beat.)
I get it’s been a whole year, right. I lost him too. She weren’t the only one. Granted, I didn’t lose a son; I lost a brother. Maybe I’m naive for thinking that it would bring us closer because all we got now is each other. I know he was her favourite, and I said that to her. But still… all over fifty quid. It’s like she no longer wanted to be my mum.
I knew she was there and could hear what I was saying. I ain’t dumb. She turns the TV up to try and drown out me screaming on her front door. Neighbours peering through the curtains. But I reached my limit. It’s bad enough I was out there like a drowned rat. And if she just paid me back the fifty quid to begin with, then I wouldn’t have lost my shit. Money to put flowers on his grave, but she decides to get drunk down The Potters, acting like a child. Spitting at people. Smashing glasses. It’s lucky I’m good with some of the regulars. They rang me to tell me. So I went straight there to pick her up. Right state she was in. Took her home. Tucked her up in bed. The next day, I don’t get no thanks. No money back. Nothing. Ever since we lost Tommy, she has been off the rails. Got fired from her job, Bailiffs at the door. And as soon as I mention money because she didn’t get flowers for Tommy’s grave, she goes mad. Casts me out. Her own son. Lucky I didn’t brick her windows. So I just left. (Kicks the door before leaving.)
The busy sounds of the bus creep back in. Bells ring as passengers get off.
Walked off down the street, crossed the road, and…
(Beat.)
She holds my hand and says, ‘You never made it to the other side, did you?’
And I proper pause.
I’m like, ‘Fuck. I didn’t. There was this instant pain, and then it was gone.’
She says she’s sorry, but I’m still silent.
A red bell appears on the pole next to the seats, and her sapphire blues just look at it, dead still, like she’s not even blinking. I ask her what’s wrong, and she tells me it’s her stop, so quiet I barely hear.
‘Been waiting three years for this.’
My face is confused as hell. ‘What do you mean your time has come? Can I come with you? I want to come with you.’
She continues with you can only get off the bus when you are ready, when your soul is at peace with the life you’ve lived.
‘Like I said, I’m not invisible with you. First time ever I’m seen.’
She leans up and gives me the softest kiss on my lips, like something so sacred and pure, something that’s just ours. She presses the button. And all that is going through my mind is, note to self: don’t meet the love of your life on a bus ride to the afterlife.
The wheels screech and the doors open.
‘I don’t even know your name’, I tell her, as she stands in the doorway.
‘You can call me SZA for now. And yes… you can be Kendrick. You’ll just have to come and find me.’
‘Nah, I’ve waited my whole life for you. I’m not willing to wait any longer.’
I’m crying as my fists are clenching cos I look at her with tears falling down her cheek and I can’t catch them like before.
‘There’s a reason we met on this bus. In a universe of parallel choices and infinite opportunities, what are the odds that at this time, in this place, under these specific circumstances, we’d meet. That’s got to count for something. I’ve spent my entire life going from bad to worse, fighting with everyone, being angry at the world, fucking everything up. With you, it’s different. For the first time ever, I feel… safe, to be me, to be vulnerable and open and shit. I don’t want to give that up. I want eternity and infinity with you. Hopefully getting to know your actual name for starters.’
No sooner have I finished my words when the driver leans around and says, ‘I had a brother once. Brought joy all the time to everyone, and all I brought was misery. I asked him once, I said, “Why does everyone love you so much, but they can’t stand me?” My brother, the angel that he was, he turned to me and said, “Death, I’m the beautiful lie that is life. And you’re the painful truth.”’
And I’m bare confused as I stand in the doorway, raging to get off the bus.
He tells me he’s letting me go, get off before he changes his mind.
I turn to Death, the grim reaper of old, and say, ‘Thank you. And when you see my mum, tell her I’m sorry.’
I jump off the bus, into my girl’s arms, and wipe the tear from her eye like before. Catch another eyelash on the tip of my index finger. We giggle as the deja vu kicks in, and I tell her to make a wish. But she says she doesn’t need no more wishes; her last wish came true. She smiles a huge grin and tells me to make a wish, but make it a good one.
(Beat.)
‘I mean… I just wanna know your name.’
Sound of an inhale and a blowing of an eyelash.
© Connor Allen
