Next In Line

It was a warm August afternoon the first time I saw her. Sweat trickled down my spine, absorbed by my thin t-shirt. We were all waiting for the bus. A few regulars waiting for the 4:45 bus to come, which only really ever came at 5:06. Some new faces were there as well. People coming and going. Who knows where to? But we were all waiting. Waiting for something. I noticed her because her belly blocked my direct vision of the oncoming traffic. I was sitting on the brick ledge, shifting back and forth as the heat from the stone beneath me pierced through my clothes and into my skin, burning me. Her belly was so tight. She was a small human, growing something inside her. She never sat. She stood there, swiping on her phone with her leg propped up behind her on the same ledge that I was sitting on. Not the most natural or comfortable-looking position一quite awkward actually一especially for a pregnant woman of that height. She looked as though she were about to explode at any second. 

I couldn’t help but stare. Stare at the large sphere blocking my view. She dropped her propped leg and scuttled forward, revealing bus 28 behind her. Looks like we were on the same route. We all stood in line, waiting to escape the direct sunlight beating down on us and take refuge in the covered yet muggy mode of transportation. The woman bounced up as if no struggle at all and maneuvered her way up the three steps and into the elevated seated area in the back of the bus. I sat in the front, taking the first free seat I could find. One Airpod in, listening to my long-distance friend recount her day, as we always did. It was my favorite part of every day. Our very own person podcast based on life updates and trailing trains of thought. I got off at my stop and went on with my night. 

* * *

The next day, with Fleetwood Mac playing in my left ear, the usual 4:45 crowd showed up. Filing in and out, like children on their way home from school. Maybe some of them really were on their way home from school. Among the few unfamiliar faces, there she was again, the pregnant woman from the day before. She stood at the corner with her same right leg propped up behind her. She was short in stature. Her propped leg created a perfect right angle from her knee. The sharp angle juxtaposing against her round stomach. She looked young. Her skin was pale, revealing slight purple tones under her eyes. Her hair was soft and auburn with subtle warmth to it. It was pulled back into a braid that draped onto her right shoulder. As she stood there, the same propped position as yesterday, I noticed her angular leather backpack that seemed two sizes too big for her. It seemed to balance out what was happening on her front side, making her look even smaller一sandwiched between two boulders, weighed down by the world. 

She popped up, walking past me and there the 28 was. We both boarded. Once we were both on, I never looked back. 

* * *

The following day, the same crowd rolled in. There she was, yet again. Was this a new route for her? It had to have been. Maybe she recently moved. Or maybe she started a new job. She could have just taken a later or earlier bus before. Who knows. I guess I never will. But for the moment, she seemed to be becoming a regular to the 4:45 crowd. Each day I noticed something different about her. Today it was her large circular glasses and her stripped socks. She dressed professionally but always had a slight bit of quirk. Whether it was a pop of purple or turquoise, an interesting shoe, or a large bow in her hair, there was always a touch of personality. 

This became our regular routine. She grew larger and larger by the day, looking like she could go into labor at any moment, yet she showed up month after month. Just a regular like the rest of us.

One day, a man stood at the stop with the rest of us. He was slightly familiar, but definitely not a regular. I had seen him around a few times, but never consistently. That’s when she came hobbling around the corner and straight to him. She didn’t land on her perch like usual. She eagerly sparked conversation with this man, whose name was apparently Mike. I couldn’t hear exactly what they were talking about, but from what I gathered, they worked together. She was eager to keep the conversation going, while Mike responded with short one-worded answers, sighs, and quick chuckles. He seemed to be wanting any other conversation than the one he was having. Yet, she didn’t seem to mind or maybe even notice. She went on and on. Even though I couldn’t quite make out what they were talking about, distracted by the podcast I was half listening to, I could hear how loud she was. She wasn’t afraid of anyone else hearing her. It was almost as if she was inviting it. Her voice was high-pitched, piercing the slightly chilled air. Summer was fading. 

She stood extremely close to Mike. He subtly shifted to create more space between them, but that didn’t stop her from closing the gap, back to the distance they started at. As soon as the bus came, we all lined up, shuffling in. Mike went before her, scanning his ticket and walking directly to the back, taking a window seat. She was right on his heels, losing the space between them only when she scanned her pass, then immediately making up the distance, plopping in the seat directly next to him. People never did that一sit in the spot next to someone unless there was no other room. This was the 4:45 bus; there was always plenty of room.It was a universally understood rule. One that she seemed to ignore.

* * *

As the months droned on the temperature started to fall. The sun was leaving earlier, bringing the darkness while I was still at work. By the time I’d to walk to the bus stop, there was an eerie shadow in the sky. Hazy. Lingering. Waiting to pounce and envelope us in the night.

I saw her every day. She kept showing up, belly and all. That baby seemed to be holding on for dear life, never wanting to come out into this world. What was it waiting for? Maybe it knew something we didn’t. Only the safety and warmth of a mother’s womb. I wondered if the mother had a family. How uncomfortable working this late into your pregnancy must be. Taking public transportation was bad enough as it is, I couldn’t imagine dealing with it while that pregnant. If she had a partner, I judged them for not letting her drive their shared car. Or even offering to pick her up from the office. Or really just letting her take the car. He should be the one waiting for the bus and sitting by strangers. But maybe it was just her. My thoughts take ahold of me, creating a life that is not mine, and likely not hers either. But, there I was, building this imaginary life for a woman I didn’t know anything about. 

In my head, she was either married or in a long-term relationship with some shaggy-haired man who hated his job. He seemed like the type that would talk about how important his position is and how difficult his career path was, just to find out that he was a manager at the weed shop “Blazing Glory”. He probably dressed relatively well, but had his own distinct style that matched hers. I would guess she was a schoolteacher, but somehow everything in me told me she wasn’t. That was at least the vibe she gave off. I imagined him wearing silly patterned socks and colorful button-ups with fine print so that it wasn’t too obvious that the pattern on his shirt was flying monkeys. He probably had a large vest collection. His accessories were a briefcase and some fake glasses to make him look more intelligent than he was. It’s always the blue light glasses. He was also the type of man to take the car to work because he needed it over her. As I played out their relationship, the bus came. Daydreaming was up. 

* * *

Winter was creeping in. The light began to fade more and more. The bus stop that I once used to sweat at, feeling the heat from the concrete through my shoes, was now a place where darkness lived and wind gusts pierced through the many layers that I wore, chilling my ribcage. My hands were always numb, even with the protection of my gloves and my pockets. There was no awning or barricade to bundle in or under. Just us and the open sky, all painfully waiting. As it got colder and colder, less and less people showed up. This one guy who always got off at the same stop as me every day for the past six months was nowhere to be seen as soon as the temperature hit the 40s. I wondered if he left work earlier now to escape in the daylight, or if he really just had a car this whole time and only used it for special occasions. And by special occasions I mean winter. One by one, people were falling victim to the cold. Swept away, never to be seen again until the spring. The only ones left had no other choice. 

The lights splaying “28” across the screen snapped me back. Following the much shorter line of people, I pulled my hand out and ripped off my glove一exposing my bare skin, which was immediately hissed at from the dry cold air, turning my fingertips numb instantly一to retrieve my phone for the bus pass. I settled in a seat in the front. I liked the front. There was something familiar about it. I only ever went to the back if it was a crowded day. These days it never was. The front was usually bare. People liked to retrieve to the back. Everyone had a preference, whether they were aware of it or not. 

I got off at my stop and headed across the street to my apartment. As I was unlocking the door, I realized that the woman was not there at the bus stop today. 

* * * 

Days turned into weeks and she was never there. I kept imagining her at home with her newborn. Was it a boy or a girl? Did it look more like her or the father? I wonder if she would ever come back. Maybe it was her first child. 

It went on like this for about a month. I was starting to forget her face. But just as her features blurred and began to dissipate from my mind, there she was, at our bus stop, patiently waiting for line 28. She looked thin and frail, a major contrast to her previous self. She dressed the same, in her quirky fashion. I couldn’t help but think about how crazy it is that we are expected to leave our children at home一babies一and get back to our regular lives and routines as if nothing has happened. Is it just me or is that not crazy? I know this is no new concept but I can’t imagine taking only a month off of work to be with a new human being that I created, just to leave it at home or with a stranger and go about life as if nothing even changed. I wonder if maybe her partner, I’m going to assume her husband, is staying home with the baby. Yeah, maybe they are doing shifts so that she can feel like a fulfilled and empowered mother who doesn’t lose herself or her identity to motherhood. Not that that’s a bad thing. Being a full-time mom is a job in itself. God, I really need to get a grip.

I couldn’t stop my thoughts from spiraling as the days went on and she continued to show up. It was quite literally as if nothing had changed except for the fact that she was fifty pounds lighter. She continued to awkwardly prop her short stature up on the concrete ledge until the bus arrived. I had a weird attachment to this baby that I didn’t even know. I wanted to know how everything was going. I wanted to ask her if she had been sleeping well because, from the looks of it, she seemed well-rested. If she was exhausted, then she was hiding it well. There were no bags that hung below the hallows of her eyelids. She looked more tired when she was pregnant. I bet she felt relieved to have it out of her, finally releasing that pressure and allowing her to sleep comfortably. That had to be it. Or maybe this wasn’t her first kid and she knew exactly what she was doing. She could be a veteran at birthing and raising children. Who knew? She does kind of give off Mormon vibes. So maybe this was like her seventh one. 

The days rolled into weeks, which then rolled into months, and still, she showed up every single day. The silence was starting to drive me crazy. I needed to know more. I wanted updates. Surely it wouldn’t be weird if a stranger you saw every day at the bus stop asked you how your baby was, right? 

That guy Mike was at the stop today. His hands were in his pockets as he nestled his neck into his jacket, retreating from the harsh wind like a tortoise. He shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot, staring down the street, willing the bus to come with just his gaze. 

I heard her before I saw her, and apparently so did Mike. 

“Mike!”

Her voice carried over the hum of nearby traffic, piercing into the city. He barely had time to brace himself, before she was right beside him, bouncing on her heels, breath billowing into the night air. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Hey, Gretta,” Mike muttered.

This time I was thankful I was close enough to hear their conversation.

“Another day another dollar, am I right?” 

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I swear, today felt like three days crammed into one,” she continued, unbothered by his lack of enthusiasm. “You ever just get caught in a trance staring at your screen? It’s almost like the blue light puts a spell on you or something.”

“I was in and out of a lot of meetings today, so uh, not really.”

“I hate days like that. You need a lot of energy to be on. I wish I had time this morning to grab a real coffee, but I had to settle for the office sludge. I swear I think they use the grounds for three days straight. I mean, is it really even coffee at that point?” she says with a chuckle. 

Mike exhales sharply, almost a laugh but not quite. “Yeah, I’ve definitely had better.” 

“See, you get it!”

There’s a brief pause in the conversation. I’m gnawing at the inside of my cheek, waiting for any bit of information about the baby. Mike rocks onto his heels and stares back down vacantly at the road, wishing the bus would appear more now than ever. Gretta tilts her head back and stares directly at Mike, studying him. I feel like I’m intruding on an intimate moment for her. It goes on for far too long. I think he can feel it, which is why his eyes haven’t strayed from the street. 

“Whatcha doing?” she asks innocently, as if she’s not observing his every move. 

He finally pulls his eyes from the road to briefly look at her, before returning his gaze back to the busy traffic. 

“Just waiting for the bus.”

“Do you ever think about getting a bike?”

“Not really.”

“Fair. I do have to say that public transportation has its charm. I mean, we wouldn’t be having this conversation without it, you know,” she says with a toothy grin. 

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“You really can’t beat it. It’s something sort of special.”

“Yeah…special.”

More silence. I bet Mike can feel her eyes puncture through him. He clears his throat and repositions his weight, seemingly uncomfortable. 

“So, uh… how’s the baby,” he asks. 

Finally. This is what I’ve been waiting for. 

For the briefest second, something passes across Gretta’s face. A flicker, too fast to catch, like a lightbulb shorting out before glowing steadily again. She recovers quickly, smiles, same as always, as if he’d asked about the weather.

“Oh, you know,” she says, voice light and effortless. “Same old, same old.”

I’m inching closer, wanting to hear more. 

“Anyway, did you see how Lisa microwaved fish in the breakroom today? Actual crime against humanity,” she continues. 

No. No. No. That can’t be it? There has to be more. She didn’t really even answer his question.

Mike blinks, thrown. “Uh… no.”

“Lucky you,” Gretta says with a dramatic shudder. “Whole floor smelled like low tide. I swear, some people just want to watch the world burn. Idiots. Sometimes I really think we need to start over and raise people right,” she says.

Another pause of silence. 

“So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” she asks. “Big plans?”

“Just heading home,” he replies.

“Exciting,” she teases. “Gonna whip up a gourmet meal? Or are we talking frozen pizza and a beer situation?”

“Probably just leftovers.”

“Ah, the classic,” she says approvingly. “No dishes, no effort. Can’t beat it.”

A gust of wind rattles the loose street sign, and in the distance, the bus’s headlights flicker into view. Mike sighs in relief, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. The bus wheezes to a stop in front of them. Mike swipes his pass first, stepping onto the near-empty vehicle and sliding into his usual seat by the window. Gretta right behind him. 

I almost stumble onto the bus. I forgot to pull up my ticket so it takes longer than normal. This never happens. I always have my ticket pulled up. The bus driver grows impatient as I fumble through my phone and waves me through. Thank God there is no line behind me today. 

“So, leftovers, huh?” she says, grinning as the bus rumbles forward. “What are we talking—pasta? Stir fry? Mystery Tupperware surprise?”

Mike stares out the window, watching streetlights blur past. Gretta keeps talking, filling the space between them. As the bus hums along its usual route, my heart pounds. Gretta never really answered Mike’s question. Not about the baby.

I shift in my seat, glancing back at them. Gretta’s talking animatedly, eyes bright—but something feels off. Her smile is too steady, too practiced. Mike nods absently, staring out the window like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Then I notice it.

Her hands.

They’re gripping the oversized leather backpack, fingers curled tight, knuckles pale. Like she’s holding onto it for dear life.

The bus slows at the next stop, and the movement shifts the bag slightly—just enough for me to see something inside.

Something small. It looks like a bundled blanket. 

I freeze.

The bus doors hiss open, and Mike practically leaps from his seat, mumbling, “This is me.“ He doesn’t wait for a response. He just goes.

But Gretta doesn’t move to follow.

She exhales—slow, measured—like she was waiting for him to leave. Her fingers tighten around the leather straps.

I should leave it alone. But I don’t.

* * * 

The next day when I see her, I sit in my usual spot in the front of the bus, while she moves to the back. Mike isn’t here today. We go from stop to stop, passengers getting off and on at each. Sweat starts trickling down my back. My Airpods are in but no music is playing. I wait. 

The bus moves on. The next stop is mine, but I don’t get off. I stay, briefly glancing back at her. She doesn’t seem to notice. It’s probably nothing. It feels like needles are pricking into every square inch of my skin. Why am I doing this?

A few stops later, Gretta stands to get off and I follow. The bus pulls away, leaving us alone on a quiet, dimly lit street. I’m further from the city than I thought I was going to be. It’s just us and the houses. She doesn’t seem surprised that I’m behind her. Doesn’t even glance back. She just walks—unhurried, steady, the heavy backpack bouncing slightly against her spine.

I follow, letting her get a head start. 

She turns onto a narrow side street lined with old houses, their windows dark. The streetlights flicker, casting long, distorted shadows.

Then she stops in front of a house. The porch light is off, but a faint, flickering glow seeps through the curtains. A sound drifts from inside.

A baby’s cry.

Then another.

And another.

My stomach knots.

Gretta adjusts the backpack on her shoulders and steps onto the porch, reaching for the doorknob.

Before she can touch it, the door creaks open. A figure stands in the doorway—an older woman, her silhouette thin and sharp against the dim light behind her. Gretta steps inside without a word. Before the door swings shut, I see inside.

A bassinet.

Then another.

Then another.

Rows of them, neatly arranged, lining the walls. The older woman reaches for Gretta’s backpack as muted cries begin to come from it. They are weak and stifled by the blanket. She pulls out the bundle, making the cries grow louder. But before I can get a better look, the door clicks closed.

The street is silent again.

I stand there with my pulse hammering in my ears. What the fuck is going on? 

* * *

A few weeks go by and I haven’t seen her since that day. I’m relieved. I probably imagined it all. I do love to daydream, but that was something else. It was probably just the stress of work getting to me. Man, I really need a vacation. Maybe I’ll look into flights when I get home today. My thoughts are cut short by a familiar voice. Gretta. She’s at the bus stop today. My heart sinks. My breathing quickens. It’s fine. It’s totally fine. There’s nothing wrong. 

She’s smiling, chatting一not a care in the world. And that’s when I hear her say, “I’m pregnant.”