The Bus Driver

Skank. That was my brother's word. All the times Jude had called me that, and the time he spat on me when I came home from a party. My brother thought I spent my days in parking garages, or worse. And instead of protecting me, he beat me. Men are sick. They all disgust me. Frank had stopped hitting Vitali. He'd dragged her into the car and told me to leave. I couldn't leave her there. It was too dark in that garage to see what was happening in the car. I scanned the ground for a weapon and saw the bottom of a broken bottle. Vitali finally got out of the car in tears. Frank got out after her, buttoning his pants. "You, little bitch, delete my number." We took each other's hand and ran, not knowing where. Night was falling fast, and there was no one in the streets. Suddenly Vitali started shaking. "Look. He's coming back." In the distance, Frank's car. We were exhausted. We had no strength left to move. Then a bus appeared in the bus lane, right next to our attacker's car. It didn't seem to be slowing down—the stop was a hundred yards away, and there was nobody at it. "Run, Vitali, run." "I can't. We won't make it." "Run, I'm begging you, or he'll kill us." I waved at the driver to show him we were going for the stop. Then the driver did something that, since that day, has given me a deep respect for every bus driver in the world. He stopped right where we were. I almost peed myself with joy. Frank started honking at the driver. The driver pretended not to see him. The bus ended at the train station I'd seen on the way in. On the whole ride home, neither of us said a word. "Vitali, are you okay?" I finally asked. "Don't tell anyone what happened." "What happened in the car?" "I don't want to talk about it." "Did he rape you?" "No, are you crazy? He asked me for a blowjob, I said no. He took my hand and put it on his thing. I don't really know what happened. At one point he was shaking. I saw something white come out. I don't know what I saw or what I did to him." She looked at the window and shivered. "At least he didn't rape you." It wasn't the answer she was waiting for. Nothing else came. "Swear on your mother's life you'll never tell anyone. And I never want to talk about it again. If you tell, it's your word against mine." After that day, we never spoke of it again. Not even when we heard that a friend of a friend was dating one of Frank's boys, and that a complaint had been filed about a party with alcohol that ended badly.