Waiting for Superman

Fifth Short Story

Prologue

            I am broke. I am typically ruined, my whole life is.

            People think I am a , probably they think I am pitiful, pathetic. Every night I am in the clubs, dancing my heart out. My whole life is a mess. Basically, I am. I am no one and anyone. Everyone wants me, but no one wants to stay with me. I wake up without someone having their arms around me.

            I don’t know what I am waiting for.

            Probably someone to save me?

            I don’t know… Somehow I guess I am waiting for someone to save me. Sadly I can’t exactly be Lois Lane of this story.

            Or am I?

Our Song: Waiting for Superman

            When I first met her, I was awestruck.

            I don’t know. Some people might think it is because she was pretty. I don’t think the same. I don’t see her pretty or beautiful. In fact, she’s ugly for me. A person who has a big personality and a standoffish attitude… That does how I see her… so can someone tell me why I started to like her?

Okay. I guess it wasn’t because of her attitude either. It was all in her eyes… I’ve seen how broken it was. I saw loneliness in it. Maybe she could deny it, or mask it really well… But all my life I am trained to read people, and probably guess what kind of life someone is living.

            I can tell hers is rough.

            Another night came and there she was in the dance floor, her body busily grinding with some new guy. I’ve seen how he held her in places not meant to be touched by strangers. There she goes again, playing again with another man’s heart. Some people might’ve thought her as a gold digger or a flirt. I can’t agree much more. She really is. However, I can also see she was not happy about how she has become.

            The night was getting deeper and before she could make an even bigger sin, she walked away and left without a trace, like how she always been, for the past four months.

            And then it was time for me to leave again.

            I am not following her. I am not her stalker either. Let’s say I just happen to be there when she does. It was all just a coincidence… a coincidence that keeps on repeating without stop.

            And then I saw her there, sitting on the bus stop, waiting for her ride home. She was once again drunk, and puked on the corner. I never dared to talk to her, much less help her back then. As much as many times I’ve seen her or notice her, I never really cared. She was just someone I get to notice. Just someone… hopefully.

            Tonight’s not going according to plan though, obviously.

            She was sitting silently on the bench, crutching on her stomach probably because of all the drinks she drank. Not knowing what exactly to do, I pretended not to care and just casually took the seat next to her, while we wait for her bus. Yep. Her bus… My house was completely in another way compared to hers. However, for the past months, I’ve found myself taking the same bus and make sure she got home safely before I go back home. It was kinda hassle for me, but then I kept doing it still. I still couldn’t figure out why.

            While the night gets deeper, and the cars speed up around the streets, I noticed what she was doing. I saw her clasping her hands together, as if silently praying. I wanted to ask her what she’s doing but protested against it. I was in no position to.

            The bus arrived minutes later and we both boarded it. Since it was pretty much late, only about five people were boarding the bus. I sat at the chair behind her, by the window. At the same time, the rain was pouring on the outside, the raindrops tricking on the window one by one. The whole time I just stared at her, as her blonde hair falls still perfectly after everything that night.

            And then the bus dropped her off. She got down, the same time I did, and I noticed how she gets wobbled up in the sidewalk towards their house. I wanted to take my hand out and help her but restrained myself.

            Well, at least I tried to.

            It wasn’t until she reached a corner when she puked then again, and I began to take action and caught her in my arms to prevent her from falling down.

            “Be careful miss.” Was all I voiced out as she barfed a bit of her dinner. After her own session, she wiped her lips and looked at me with a confused expression.

            “Who are you?” She finally asked.

            I am not sure what to tell her. So I did the easiest thing to say, “I am no one.”

            She believed me.

            That night, I just stared at her as she walked away. I didn’t dare to follow her anymore.

***

            The next night, she was kinda sober, at least. I wasn’t able to drop by the club that night, as I was busy with work. I barely even finished it when I decided to call it a night and walked towards the bus stop. It was a little past the usual time her bus comes so I was beyond shocked to see her sitting there, looking at the passing cars.

            She has her eyes closed, and her hands clasped together once again, as if she was praying.

            I didn’t say anything and just took the seat next to her.

            She’s the one who broke the silence though.

            “You were late.” Was all her statement. I raised my eye brow in confusion. I didn’t exactly know what she means by that.

            “Late?”

            She nodded her head, “Our bus just left a moment ago.”

            I figured out that she must not have ridden the bus that was supposed to take her home. Why?

            “Oh… then why didn’t you take it?” I asked back, slightly stunned to myself that I am actually having a conversation with her.

            “I was waiting for you. We always take the bus together, stranger.”

            I didn’t know what to tell her so I just nodded. And waited for her last bus and walked her home. Just that… I took the cab home that night, since I basically missed my bus.

***

            “Why do you always clasp your hands together every night?” I asked softly one night, when we were both waiting for the bus. She was doing it again, closing her eyes and praying. I wonder what she’s wishing for.

            For the past weeks, we’ve gotten closer to each other actually. Well, not that type of close. However we find ourselves talking to each other every night. Sometimes she would greet me and ask me about my day. I answered her the same thing, that it was the usual. She would nod her head in understanding and it’s my turn to ask her.

            We still didn’t know each other’s names. I guess we both are not ready to give ourselves away.

            “I am making a wish, duh.” She answered the obvious, making me raise an eye brow. Realizing that she doesn’t make sense, she pointed at the few cars passing by. “Cars look like shooting stars at night. That’s why I always make a wish.”

            “What are you wishing for then?” I asked, trying to mask any curiosity from my voice.

            She shrugged, “Probably Superman. I am waiting for him to save me.”

       And then she smiled at me.

            Trust me; it was brighter than any stars I’ve seen.

***

       “Why are you walking me home, stranger?” She asked me playfully another night when we both got home from the club. She only drank a glass tonight, and got home a lot earlier than she used to. Since she did, I decided to just follow her and take her home.

            “You might puke in the streets again.” I deadpanned, and just listened to the song playing in my playlist.

            We were in front of her house when I noticed a lot of screaming inside. The lights were on in the living room and I can come up with the silhouettes inside. I know it was her parents. And I could sense they were fighting… violently, that is.

            I noticed her sigh beside me.

            “That’s one of the reasons going home early is stressful. You get to see them like that and then you get hurt.” She muttered, before releasing another sigh and smiled at me, although it looks sad. “I’m going home now. You should go too.”

            She was about to walk away when I held her wrist back and looked at her straight into her eyes.

            “If it hurts, tell me. Sometimes telling a stranger is better than so