"Is this where you catch the 44?" Briles asked as he approached an elderly lady waiting at the bus top.
"Yes, sir. It is indeed."
"I''m new to the neighborhood," he explained quickly, "so I wasn't sure."
She smiled. "I've lived here close to forty-five years."
"You ride the bus often?"
"Not as much as when I was working but I still ride it a couple of times a week."
The bus stop, a single bench beside a corroded sign covered in graffiti, was on the corner of a grungy commercial street a few blocks east of a residential area of modest houses and four-story apartment buildings. Briles moved into one of the buildings three weeks ago with his pet iguana. An actuary, he was starting a new job this morning with a firm downtown in the heart of the financial district. He was told by another actuary that it was only a fifteen minute drive from his apartment but because parking space was scarce he should consider riding the bus to work. He hadn't been on a bus in years but didn't want to be late to work looking for a place to park so he decided to heed the advice.
A minute after eight, a bus appeared half a block away and Briles edged closer to the curb.
"It's not yours," the elderly lady informed him.
"It's not?"
"Not 44," she said as the bus cruised past the stop. "It won't be here for at least fifteen minutes."
He looked at his watch. "Not for fifteen minutes?'
"If it's on time, which it seldom is."
Frowning, he slouched against the sign, wondering if maybe he should reconsider and drive his car to work.
"Good morning, Mrs. Elser," a portly woman in a cactus-colored shirt jacket greeted the elderly lady.
"Good morning, dear."
"It's a little brisk out."
"So it is," Mrs. Elser replied. "Tell me, did you get your phone back?"
She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."
"That's a shame."
"I'm sure it's gone for good."
Mrs. Elser looked at Briles. "Sharlene here had her phone snatched right out of her hand by some guy on a bicycle," she told him. "She was just waiting here for for the bus."
"Do things like that happen often in the neighborhood?"
Sharlene shrugged. "I don't know about how often but they do happen."
"You just have to stay alert so they don't happen to you," Mrs. Elser advised him.
He nodded as another bus appeared on the street but it also went by without stopping.
Half a minute later, a lanky man approached the bus stop with a small bouquet of chrysanthemums in his left hand. He hesitated for a moment, exchanging glances with the two women, then continued on to the middle of the block, got down on one knee, and placed the bouquet near the curb. He stood over the flowers for several seconds the turned around and banged his head three times against the trunk of an elm tree.
Briles was stunned. "Did you see that?" he asked the women.
Sharlene nodded. "I did."
"That guy must be crazy or high on something," he speculated as the lanky man shambled down the block.
"Mr. Holden is neither.," Mrs. Elser said curtly. "He's just very sad."
"About what?"
"Where he laid those flowers is where his son crashed the family car. Apparently, he blames himself for the boy's death because he let him take out the car on a very rainy night."
"How often does he come here?"
"Two or three times a week, I guess."
"Does he always bang his head against that tree?"
"Every time I've seen him bring flowers he does," Mrs. Elser said, glancing over at Sharlene, who nodded in agreement.
"Did he crash into the tree?"
"He did."
"Oh, look," Sharlene blurted out, "here's the 44."
*
For nearly six months, while still in school, Briles worked part-time as a baggage handler at the airport. One of the crew chiefs he got to know was a burly guy by the name of Jonas who was three times his age but much stronger. Sometimes, during coffee breaks, they threw dice against a wall in the bag room for pennies. One afternoon, a Jonas leaned over to pick up the dice, Briles noticed what appeared to be blood stains on the upper right thigh of his trousers.
"You all right?" he asked, concerned.
"Why wouldn't I be? I'm up a buck and a half."
"Briles pointed at his leg. "It looks like you're bleeding."
"Oh, that," he said dismissively. "That's nothing."
"Are you hurt?"
Jonas, idly shaking the dice in his left hand, did not answer him.
"Is there something I can do? Do you need a bandage?"
Still mute, he rolled up his trouser leg to reveal a stand of barbed wire wrapped around his thigh.
"What the hell is that?"
"It's called a cilice."
"Why are you wearing it?"
"As a kind of penance for things I've done that I shouldn't have," he said, lowering his voice. "And as a way of reminding me to be a better Christian."
"I didn't know you were religious."
He smiled. "Some folks wear their faith on their sleeve. I guess I wear mine on my leg," he cracked.
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"No, not really," he replied, rolling down his trouser leg. "It usually doesn't draw blood. I must've wrapped it a little tighter than usual."
Briles never discussed the matter again with him but often found himself looking at his right leg to see if there were blood stains. He just could not understand why someone as sensible as Jonas would deliberately hair himself as an expression of some kind of spiritual discipline. It seemed preposterous to him, something out of the dark ages when corporal mortification was encouraged by religious leaders.
*
The next time Briles saw Holden was his fourth morning at the bus stop. As he did the other morning, he set some flowers beside the curb then banged his head again and again and again against the elm tree. Watching him then walk away, he thought of Jonas and wondered if a spiked chain was around one of his legs.
*
It was so late when Briles got off the bus that no one was waiting to get on and it took off at once. Usually he got home when it was still light out but he had to stay a little longer at the office to finish some work. He looked at his watch but it was so dark he could not read it but figured it had to be close to eight-thirty. Exhausted, he staggered past the elm tree then, impulsively, stepped back and banged his head against it. Embarrassed, he looked around to see if anyone was there, no one was, then he banged his head two more times, sure he deserved it for some of the things he had done the past year.