8.

We finally hit downtown and my palms can't stop sweating. They're clammy and moist like some basement mold. I feel like dying. I tug on the cord to signal I want to get off, but I don't even know what the next stop is. All that matters is that I'm finally in Seattle and I can get off this metal tomb. I swear the longer I've been on the bus the smaller it has gotten. It feels like every mile the bus has shrunk a foot. At first it seemed like I was a football field away from the front of the bus and now I'm only 10 feet at the most. I feel my heart beat faster and every second turns into an hour. I just want to get off. I just want to get off. I just want to get off. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer and my hands are drenched. Shit, when did I get so damn crazy? When did everything start to make me so damn anxious and queasy? We turn a corner and I feel my stomach slip out of my ass and I know I'm going to be sick. The string around the yo-yo lets loose with a snap and I burp something nasty. I throw my duffel bag over my shoulder and grab my garbage bag and hustle to the front. The woman rustles with her things and clenches her purse like it's something precious. She protects her purse like it's her child and I don't give her the satisfaction of looking shamed or disappointed. As much as I want to explode at her I rein myself in. Our eyes meet again and hers quickly dart down to the floor. Did she always have that mustache? I do my best to wait patiently at the front bus, making sure to never step over the sacred yellow line.

PASSENGERS MUST REMAIN BEHIND LINE WHILE BUS IS IN MOTION

That indelible line that separates professional from pedestrian. The bus is now sauna wood panels and all and I can't stop sweating. I grip the aptly stationed poles to keep my balance as we careen around another corner. My stomach slides around like a speeding car on ice and I can feel vomit in my throat. I push it down and gasp for breath and I feel sweat drip down my nose. My stomach throws itself against my abdomen like the ocean against a cliff face. Poseidon emerges from the sea with a yo-yo in hand. He's winding the string back around, probably getting ready to walk the dog. I remember when yo-yo's were popular in elementary school. I could never do them. Poseidon flips his wrist and down it slips. I taste potato and vomit and vodka and orange juice. Poseidon doing the cat's cradle or whatever the shit its called and he speaks to who, I don't know. "I don't mean to impose, but I am the ocean." More waves crash more yo-yo tricks more balloons in brains. More metaphors. You get it. I just want to throw it all up and let it all out and start fresh and new but I don't want to deal with that. Questions. Probings. More material for her story. So I clench my teeth and try to count down from ten to focus my mind and calm my nerves.
10
9
8
7
6
5
4

3


2




1

The bus turns another sharp corner and suddenly comes to a hard halt. As I brace myself to keep my balance I let loose the most horrendous sounding fart.