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Everyday when I got onto the bus, two stops later Bill would get on. He was a slow man, in his thirties, and I think he worked at a grocery store. He would talk to everyone that he knew from riding the bus, and whistle at any sexy joggers that ran past as we rode along.

He would always wave as he got onto the bus, and most of the time I’d wave back. There were times, though, when I didn’t want to. I can’t say why. Maybe I was a ass, maybe I just didn’t want to, but I wouldn’t wave.

Sometime I’d pretend that I was napping. Sometimes I’d pretend that I didn’t see him get onto the bus. I could see him looking at me from the corner of my eye waiting for me to look so that he could wave at me. But I wouldn’t wave or look.

One day a week ago, I was sitting on the bus, anxious to get home, when we arrived at bills stop. He got onto the bus and noticed that he and I were alone. Slowly, he approached me and when he was close enough, he grabbed my collar.

“I know you can see me waving at you.” he whispered angrily.

“You wave back, or we are going to have problems.”

With that he went back to his seat, and waved at me…