The first time I got a bus alone I was 13. I was heading into town to meet friends; it was someone’s birthday, and we were going to see the latest Marvel movie. I was finally old enough that my mum let me go without panicking about whose parents could drive me there and back. I’d never been on the bus much before then. There was never a reason to, we could walk everywhere we needed to go. That was the perk of living in a village, it was small, familiar, and easily walked.
It was simple enough to figure out the bus route. There’s one main road all the way through town so it’s the same bus in both directions, a constant loop. It was exciting to taste independence like I hadn’t before (it tastes a lot like salted popcorn and tango ice blasts.) without the watchful eyes of my mum or older sister. The bus wasn’t even supposed to be the exciting part yet handing over my £2.10 and claiming a ticket was something that did feel exciting. Like a new level of growing up had been unlocked.
Over the next 5 years, I’d take the same bus journey every weekend. Town was the only place to get a job that paid at least minimum wage and I had learned the value of my time after being paid £3 an hour in the local chip shop. Going to work wasn’t the same as going to the cinema but the idea of independence changed a lot at that time. Independence had changed to the sound of a milk frother hissing and card machine beeps, yet still it was that bus journey that got me there.
I never minded taking the bus. I hadn’t grown up with a car, so it was simply nice to not walk, and I’d grown up sharing a room with my sister, so privacy was never an expectation. So, I learned to love the bus. The 40-minute journey felt like my time. A sliver of me in between the expectations of work, home, and school. I didn’t mind the sticky seats or the sickly smell of sweat that came with every journey. I’d learned to ignore the stares of older passengers, trying to figure out if I was old enough to be on a bus alone. I was a late bloomer and never looked old enough to be the person serving you coffee so I understood the looks. It wasn’t until I was 15 that I learned those confused stares were something you could miss.
I learned a lot on the endless loop of the 52. One of those things was that the world was a lot worse than I thought it was. Those confused looks had changed to pity, concern, or the leering eyes of men. The pity came from other women, often mixed with their own discomfort at the looks they were receiving. The concern came from a mix of people but mostly anyone sober when the leering men were drunk.
You learn ways to ignore it. Never sit at the back, you want people to see you but don’t sit at the front, otherwise, someone might pass by with their crotch a little too close. It’s ridiculous really, to find safety in the middle rows. As if the entire bus isn’t covered by cameras but those cameras have never stopped anyone. I’d ask for the earlier shifts at work because at least if the looks are from sober eyes they might remain just looks. At first, I had no reason to take these precautions, the looks had never been more than uncomfortable. A sense of danger rather than rational proof but one day I got that dreaded proof.
The 7:34 bus heading back home after an 8-hour Christmas Eve shift. It was empty, just me in my middle-row safety seat. Eager to get home I was distracted by the world of my phone. Turns out falling asleep would be my problem that night. We’d pulled into a stop 2 villages over from me and a lone man got on the bus. I’d learned to avoid eye contact and make sure they could see I wasn’t going to listen, forget talk to them. As he approached, I assumed he was heading to the back of the bus until suddenly he stopped. Right beside my seat. I didn’t have a bag with me that day, to cover the seat beside me but on a completely empty bus, you never expect someone to sit right there. That’s against the universal bus etiquette.
Yet apparently, he hadn’t learned this rule. I don’t know for sure if he smiled when he took that seat, but I could feel the smugness rolling off him in waves, alongside the cologne that quickly started replacing the air in my lungs.
Fear and a hint of confusion took over me. I didn’t react, I froze up. My muscles became tense, my breathing heavy and my eyes clouded over. I didn’t know what to do. What can you do? I was uncomfortable with someone sitting beside me normally, forget when it felt like a purposeful attack. He could have sat anywhere but he took the seat beside me. It was 2 stops later when he slid closer. His knee knocked mine. It was 4 stops later when his thigh pressed against me. It was 1 stop later when his hand crept across his thigh to mine and I screamed.
I got lucky that the bus driver was nice. They pulled over, kicked him off and asked if I wanted to report it. I said no, and begged them to just keep moving because I wanted to go home. I was 16. Reporting it was more noise than I’d ever be able to make, screaming felt brave enough. I walked home from the bus stop scared, keys clutched desperately in my hands. As if they’d protect me. As if someone hearing or knowing would make something stop. I didn’t sleep that night, but I did shower. Twice. Just to make sure I was clean as if the water and shower gel could wash away my new fears.
I never get the bus without a bag anymore. I put it on that seat, and it only moves if I see someone with the same look of fear in their eyes or if someone asks, I’m not rude. However, I will ignore people sometimes. With my obnoxious headphones and eyes on my phone, so they can’t see that I know they’re standing there because people love to ask for that seat beside me. Despite my bag being there, even if across the aisle there’s a seat, completely bagless because the bagless seat is beside a man or someone who looks more intimidating than me.
I understand why, they’re assuming correctly that I was taught to be polite and quiet. To accommodate everyone I can, but I learned a few things on my weekly bus trips. It’s okay to make noise if someone sits too close, it’s okay to take up space to save yourself and it’s best to avoid moving your bag for anyone other than a potential target. That seat beside me is reserved for anyone with fear on their face at the idea of sitting beside the leering eyes.
I learned a lot on the endless loop of the 52 but I lost a lot as well. My first purse, an embarrassing number of lip balms and my sense of safety in the world.
Featured Image Credit: Pexels
