Connections. We need them. A big part of life is to connect in some way with others. And lets face it, people aren’t going anywhere. You can either become a recluse or find a way to deal with them. Some will lead to amazing connections. You won’t believe there is someone out there as lovable and functionally messed up as yourself. But others may leave you wondering why you even bothered leaving the house or looked at social media. Trust me, I get it. But only connecting with The Office reruns aren’t going to help you evolve. We need others. We need those rare gems in people form to keep us believing that not everyone sucks. Most do. But not everyone. Kidding. (Kinda.)
When it comes to writing stories, sometimes the inspiration comes from connections with pictures. The curiosity of the story line behind the image can be quite inspiring. I once saw an old timey picture of a man levitating while leaning with one hand against a wall… and so the story in my head began. Only mine began with a connection a bus. Anyways, here’s short story I wrote about a bus connection with a levitating man.
He didn’t look fascinating or exceptional. Quite honestly, he just blended in with everyone else on the bus. If it wasn’t for the fact that he started levitating off the ground and up to the ceiling while talking on his phone as if nothing was out of the ordinary, there wouldn’t have been anything memorable about him in my mind.
            When I did take notice, his arm was outstretched like he was pressing his weight against an imaginary wall as he began to rise. It was amazing for what it was but also amazing how no one looked up at first. But I had been staring in his direction at the woman just a few seats ahead. I noticed how he appeared so nonchalant  in this action. He wasn’t bothered by the others who began to stare one by one. Some patting the person next to them and others just watching without words being spoken. But as he continued to rise, there was a low buzz of whispers and a sea of phones aimed in his direction. All taking note of the peculiar man.
            I shifted my focus to the bus driver and to her eyes in the rear view mirror looking back at the man and then to the road ahead. She did this a few times before the bus had come to a stop. The doors to the bus opened but no one stood up. No one moved as the man spoke into his phone. His tone was too low to hear the words he was speaking and I wished I could hear him. Who was he talking to? What were they saying to each other?
            “Sir,” the bus driver said, towards the man. He glanced at her, holding all speech, and then went back to his conversation.
            “Sir,” she said again. Only this time, she added a dip of her head, gesturing towards the door.
            “I’m sorry,” the man said, excusing his behavior in his tone. He slowly lowered back into his seat, grabbed his briefcase and calmly walked towards the doors of the bus. He turned as he was leaving, tipped the brim of his hat towards the bus driver, and then followed the path of the steps off the bus. No one else moved. Except me.
            Before the doors could close, I waved to the bus driver, clutching my purse tight, saying, “wait,” and left the bus. Which way did he go? Should I be looking down the sidewalk or up at the walls of the buildings? I scanned both directions looking for the man I had barely any recognition of and spotted the hat and the briefcase now resting on a table outside the small cafe. What would I say when I reached him? I wasn’t certain of my words or why I felt the need to follow him. I got closer and suddenly felt more and more unsure in my decision. I pretended to look at the menu just beside the door to the cafe and felt the mans eyes on me. I glanced over with a shy smile and he dipped his head like he had done so towards the bus driver.
            “You seem lost,” he said.
            I let out a soft hesitate laugh.
            “We’re all a bit lost,” he continued, “like the breath on uncertain days.”
            I smiled again. Curious.
            “Sit,” he offered, with a kind smile towards the empty chair across from him.
            I took a seat, feeling a tingling in my chest and tried to muffle my nervous breath. We sat, silent as the waiter came, offering me coffee. “No thank you,” I politely declined.
            “Drink. My treat,” the man said.
            I was unsure of his kindness. Hesitant again in my tiny laugh, “O.k.,” I said.
            He took a sip of his drink and I felt the need to break the silence although I could tell from his demeanor, I didn’t need to. It was my own nervousness getting in the way.
            “I don’t think I caught your name?’ I said, “I’m …”