I simply wanted to go home from work. Same bus, route, stiff back bench seat. My Adidas bag was in my lap, podcast on low, headphones on. I was thinking about dinner when this red-capped man staggered aboard the bus.
His appearance was harsh. He looked exhausted after a few days. I couldn’t tell if the hands were twitching from cold or stress, eyes half closed, and jacket wrinkling He sat next to me, leaned back, and said nothing.
I felt his head sink into my shoulder at the next stop.
I froze.
A part of me wanted to push him off or stand up. I sat motionless because his breathing was sluggish and heavy, like his body had given up. Nobody laughed or pulled out their phone when I looked around.
His hand then wrapped around mine.
That struck me. I looked down expecting to escape, but he wasn’t tightly holding me. As if attempting to avoid falling off an imaginary edge.
And he said it.
The slightest murmur. It was only noticed when my podcast became quiet.
“Don’t let her find me.”
I stayed put. Was silent. Just gazed out the window while he held on like I was a shield.
I keep wondering—who was she?
The city lights blurred as the bus rumbled. The man on my shoulder held my hand gently but firmly. I wondered who “she” was. A wife? A girlfriend? Someone from his past? His voice was raw and fearful, touching me.
We traveled silently for what seemed like forever. I missed my normal stop, lost in contemplation and a weird sense of duty for this stranger leaning on me. When the bus neared the end of the line, the driver called the last stop. His eyes flickered as he moved. He looked about confusedly before looking at me.
Like scorched, he recoiled. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, red-faced. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay,” I said, helping him sit up. Are you okay?
Nodding, he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, just exhausted. Really tired.” He looked down at our entwined hands and hastily drew his apart. And sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” I said, smiling slightly. It appeared you needed it.”
He replied with a feeble smile. I suppose I did. Thanks. You didn’t have to allow me.”
“I know,” I answered. “You seemed to be going through something.”
He sighed when he paused. “Long story.”
I said, “I’ve got time,” even though my supper was probably cold.
He glanced at me for the first time. Despite fatigue, his eyes flickered with appreciation or a frantic urge to confide. “Really want to hear it?”
I nodded.
His breath was deep. About my sister Clara. She has some issues. Mental health issues. When struggling, she becomes obsessed on certain things. On people. Right now, I am.”
Heart plummeted. “Is she dangerous?”
He paused again. Not deliberately. However, she may be overbearing. That girl doesn’t know limits. She visits my office and flat. Calls often. During her worst moments, she can become aggressive.
Has she injured you? Asking in a whisper.
A shadow covered his face as he nodded. A couple times. Although not serious, it is worrisome. Also tiring. I just… I needed rest. I was hoping to reach a friend’s house where she wouldn’t look.”
“And she doesn’t know your friend’s address?”
“No. I ensured that. However, she is clever. She finds me eventually.” His crimson hat dropped as he stroked his hair. He didn’t touch it. “I wish… Hope she improves.”
Have you asked her for help?
We’ve tried everything. Doctors, therapists, drugs. Long-term success seems impossible. She may be fine for a time, but a trigger might bring her back to square one.
I felt sorry for him and Clara. Mental illness was terrible to the sufferer and others around them.
“What did you mumble on the bus?” I asked, recalling his remarks. What about her not finding you?
He glanced aside, ashamed. “No idea. I was half-slept. Most likely a nightmare.”
I didn’t think so. Too real was his fearful voice.
Several more minutes passed in quiet as his narrative hung in the air. Finally, I stood. “Look,” I continued, “you and I don’t know each other. You may find me here if you need someone to listen or be a shield again. Most days, same bus, same time.”
He glanced up, astonished. You’d do that?
I shrugged. We all need help sometimes.
He stood and took his headgear. “Thanks,” he said, emotional. Really, thanks. My name is Finn.”
I said, “I’m Elara,” holding out my hand.
He shook it again, firmer. I enjoyed meeting you, Elara. Even under odd circumstances.”
“You too, Finn.”
Together, we left the bus terminal in different directions. However, I felt like we would meet again as I left.
And they did. A few weeks later, Finn was on the bus again. His appearance improved, less haunting. He spotted me and smiled slightly. He sat next to me rather than on my shoulder, showing increased firmness in his stance.
“Hi, Elara,” he said.
“Hey, Finn,” I said. How are you?
“Better,” he said. Despite the challenges, I am learning to manage with Clara. And I found a new therapist. She seems promising.”
“That’s good,” I remarked, congratulating him.
We discussed our professions and lifestyles for the rest of the bus journey, ignoring the night he fell asleep on my shoulder. Two persons who had an odd connection had a typical chat.
The twist followed. Finn left the bus a few months later. It didn’t bother me at first, thinking he’d found another way around. As weeks went into months, I worried.
He appeared as I walked home from work one evening. He sat on a park seat, lonely and lost. I went to him.
“Finn! What happened? Are you okay?
He glanced up with sorrowful eyes that made my heart hurt. “Clara…she left.”
I choked on my breath. “Gone? You mean what?
She took her own life, he muttered, tears flowing down his cheeks.
Sitting close to him, I wrapped my arm across his shoulders. For a long time, we sat in solitude, only the wind rustling leaves.
Finally, he spoke. “I feel like it’s my fault,” he sobbed. “Maybe I could have been more patient and understanding…”
“Finn, no,” I stressed. It’s not your fault. You did your best for her. You supported her through hardship.”
Shaking his head. “I wasn’t always there. I occasionally became irritated. It annoyed me. I simply wanted her normal.”
“It’s okay to feel those things, Finn,” I said. “You’re human. You must not blame yourself for her illness.”
That night, we spoke about Clara, remorse, and loss for hours. I listened, comforted, and reassured him.
Finn eventually got over his loss. He volunteered at a mental health group, sharing his story and helping others. He converted sadness into empathy and agony into purpose.
So he never forgot the night he slept on my shoulder. He informed me that my simple act of compassion, listening, gave him hope in his darkest hour.
The happy ending is that Finn healed by embracing his background and helping others. He realized that sorrow can nevertheless inspire compassion, connection, and hope.
Life can surprise us. One act of compassion, a listening ear, may change someone’s life. Reach out, support, and shelter someone who needs it. Your influence is unknown.
Have you had an unexpected connection? Share your story below. If this story moved you, please like and share it. Send some kindness out there.
