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Bus Story: The Son Also Rises

March 9, 2017

It is chilly out and the sun is trying in vain to push itself through the thick grey clouds that hang over the city like dingy candy floss. Most of us are bundled up, not quite in winter regalia, but still protected from the chilly wind and rain. When he steps aboard, what he is NOT wearing is immediately noticeable; a jacket. Or a coat. Or a sweater. Or even a long sleeved shirt. A t-shirt, in a pale blue color, is stretched over his muscled torso. He towers over most, capping it off with a very shiny, very bald head. And, oddly, no eyebrows or eyelashes. As he finds a seat, his phone rings. I think it’s some song by Foreigner.

Answering with an exasperated sigh, “Yes, Dad. I know, Dad. Don’t worry, Dad, I’ve got this.” 

He hangs up and he turns his gaze to the woman next to him, his blue eyes scanning her face, seemingly without emotion. She shivers, visibly, and, almost involuntarily, reaches out a hand to touch his exposed forearm. And lighting quick, she snatches her fingers back, and begins blowing on them, as if she’d touched a frozen metal ice cube tray. He smiles, coldly. Just as he’s leaning towards her to speak, his phone rings again. Definitely Foreigner. 

“Aw jeez, Dad, I told you I’m all set. Stop worrying. No. There are no capes. I promise. Yes, Dad, I looked. Fine. I’ll call you the minute I get there.” 

By the time he’s done, the woman is engrossed in her Kindle and ignores him.

I don’t know what is weirder; that he has a son at all, or that Mr. Freeze is a helicopter parent


From → Bus Stories

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