“You’re embarrassed?” I echo. “You’re the one who makes an unreasonable demand and causes a scene and is now causing another.” I try to shake him off but his grip tightens.
“You’re hurting me. Let go,” I say. A couple people walking by throw us concerned looks but make no move to help me.
“You owe me, woman,” he growls.
I react on instinct and wrench my arm from his grasp and then, using my full weight, shove him backward. I almost fall forward doing so, but it works. He falls back and lands hard on his butt on the sidewalk.
“Ow!” he yells. “Assault, is it? Have fun explaining that to the cops.” He pulls out his phone and starts to dial.
I turn on my heel and hurry toward the bus stop. I can see the bus coming from up ahead and hope I can make it in time.
“Yeah that’s right, run,” Wesley yells. “I know your number and your screen name. I’ll make sure you never get a date again. You’re a liar. That’s right, a liar and a loser!”
Several persons are waiting at the bus stop and stare at me as I arrive, panting. The bus pulls up right then. I’m rescued, I think and climb aboard. It is a relief to get away from Wesley and I just want to be by myself, but unfortunately the bus is already crowded and with the addition of this stop, it is almost full.
I’m the last one in and look from side to side for somewhere I can sit. The benches which have only one occupant aren’t big enough to accommodate me. The riders seated there have shopping bags and backpacks which up a lot of room, or they are also overweight.
The bus driver clears his throat as a hint, so I bump from bench to bench and person to person down the aisle in search of a seat farther back. Finally, I find one to share with a little old lady who is all of 40kg. She smiles and scoots over even closer to the wall to make room, but my butt still manages to plaster her to it. I hope her stop is soon for her sake.
The bumpy, crowded ride over city streets and the dim lighting is a relief compared to the agony at the restaurant. My face burns with shame as I recall Wesley’s words and actions. Texting his ex-girlfriend the whole time? That was rude. The more I think about him, the more I grow disgusted. He really didn’t make an effort to learn more about me. He had a grand time talking about himself—he didn’t even need my contribution to the conversation. I know he was disappointed in the real me, but that didn’t dissuade him from wanting to see all of me.
“Ugh,” I say aloud and Little Old Lady graciously pretends she doesn’t hear.