Last Bus by Huina Zheng

At fifty-nine, with only a year left before retirement, I asked to be transferred to a bus route no one wanted. The road was always jammed, accidents were frequent, and veteran drivers avoided it like a curse. No one in the depot understood why I volunteered.

I’d driven for the company for twenty years and had always been a model employee. Some said I wanted one last shot at an “Outstanding Worker” award. Others whispered that I hadn’t been myself since my son died.

I never explained. I just tightened my grip on the wheel each day. Rumors drifted through the dispatch office, and I kept showing up on time. My son had been gone a year, and grief had settled into something quiet.

Every night, on the nearly empty last bus, I would watch a girl in the rearview mirror, alone in the back row, crying quietly. I wanted to tell her to let him go, to save herself from the hurt. But I never did. I only turned the heater up a little, then a little more.

This was the one thing my son left for me to finish: to watch over the girl he didn’t get to love long enough.

Huina Zheng holds an M.A. with Distinction in English Studies and works as a college essay coach. Her creative work has been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and other literary journals. She has received multiple honors, including nominations for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfiction. She lives in Guangzhou, China, with her family.

Photo by Said on Pexels

Enjoyed reading this flash fiction? Like the artwork? Why not buy the author or the artist a coffee? Donate here – Please state the name!

*