Anesthesia

The bus journey home has always been her favourite part of the day.

Dragging her feet up the second deck, she throws her baggage onto an empty seat and plops herself down with a sigh of relief. In a state of weariness and daze, she shifts her gaze out of the window and fixes her eyes on one spot. As she watches the streams of vehicles and rows of trees glide through the small circumference of her vision, she feels the battery slowly discharging from the canals in her legs.

I have seen her many times on this bus. She always occupies the two back seats. Do not go near her at this point, or you may get an unwelcoming stare in return. But after a few stops, her gaze will gradually soften to reveal the tiredness of her eyes.

The rest of the journey becomes more bizarre. As she stays fixated on a point, she may sometimes curl her lips a little or knit her eyebrows for a while. It took me many sessions of close observation to notice these subtle changes. It can be hard to spot given the perpetuate stoic look on her face. And her smile is a mystery, I know not what she is thinking, but it carries a tinge of self-mockery, and a pinch of self-pity. Nonetheless, as she sits in that stillness, as she locks her mind away in a distant place, the silvery metallic skin on her body starts to melt to reveal a bright red surface of an organic nature, with purple lines contracting and dilating all over.

Not long later, I have to go up to her and touch her back. With my fingers, I reach out for the button at her last vertebrae and give it a gentle press. Then next comes the moment that I dread most, the moment that I hate most. As she moves her head towards me with a blank dreamy look, the sorrowful plead in her eyes pierces through my heart. Yet I have no choice because I know her secret. I understand that she was manufactured to emulate a dynamo - keep moving and the light goes on, stop and the light drops dead. Hence, forcing myself to swallow the lump in my throat, I can only turn away and whisper a word of apology.

Finally she stands up with her bag to alight at her destination. In that split second, I have to grab her arm and give her a injection, her second dose of anesthesia for the day. She doesn't retaliate. She never does. And I believe that she never will.

You know the thing that breaks my heart is that after all I have done for her, she has never once turned back to give me a second look. Maybe she doesn't know that I am always watching her as she walks away. Or maybe its just an act. An act of kindness towards me.