A busride's guilty pleasure

[AceUpYourSleeve]

This scenario derived from a dream—which is odd because something rather messy isn’t usually my cup of tea. But I had the itch to write it, so here comes the story being fleshed out (brought to you by a non-native English speaker).

Contents: sneezes (speculated causes), sniffling, a little stifling, descriptions of the mess

*~*~*

Ease washes over me once the doors close behind my back. My hair as well as the paper in my hand are ruffled, and I’m panting, but now I’ll have good chances to get home before 9 p.m. Sprinting frequently to catch a bus hasn’t been one of my worries since junior year back in high school. Night classes for adults do bring the whole package of student life along—yes, even the bubble gum sticking under chairs and table tops.
As we pull off, the inside is packed with passengers like sardines in a can. At least this means some warmth is going to build up quickly because the temperature of these early spring nights still isn’t different from that of late winter.
I settle down next to the pivoting joint thingy of the articulated bus, leaning against a grab pole. Not the best position to sort through my notes from last class, but like I said: the whole package of student experiences.
There’s a low hum from the engine, accompanied by the many people’s voices who are mostly hushed, so I guess we’re all a bit tired and ready to be lulled. While skimming the calculations, I try to block out my surroundings—that is, until I hear a sequence of hitched breathing, just the smallest sharp inhalations.
How does this reach my ears anyway? Beats me. It should be drowned out by the ambient noise rather than piercing through the air right into my attention, sucking my focus in like a vortex. Why even? What’s happening?
I look up. 

 

She stands opposite me, holding onto a handle parallel to the one I’m using for support. Her appearance is similar to mine as well. Tall physique, brown shoulder-length curls. Aside from the reddened nose.
Due to the surgical mask she’s wearing, I’m only able to see a part of the nasal bridge; however, it must also be irritated down below—judging by the way the mask constantly shows puckering where she wriggles and scrunches her nose underneath. 
It can be a pollen allergy or a cold, both never uncommon during this time of year.
The woman sniffles with narrowed eyes and so wetly and vigorously that her nostrils make a smacking sound when opening again after she pressed a finger to each side. Still, this doesn’t seem to bring her any relief. She huffs, which then gets promptly diverted into a cough because of congestion in her upper airways.
When she uncovers her nose in order to blow, its pink hue up to the tip is visible in all its splendor until she buries her face in a tissue. What then follows, matches the impression of someone trying to play bagpipes under mud. Halfway through this musical piece, she freezes, keeping still except for the snatchy breaths and fluttering eyelashes.
Oh boy, she’s gonna—

 

“Uhh-Gnh-HYASHUU!”
She pulls the covering back up despite already having something at hand to catch the sneeze. A spot in the middle of her mask turns darker blue, thus some nasal discharge must be seeping through the inner layer.
It’d be wise to check my own mask, sheer off from her, turn away for good measure if she’s coming down with something; but no, I sneak an inch closer.
I’m so going to regret this later on. Not now, though, quite the reverse.

 

I’ve seen her at night school, albeit we don’t attend the same courses. A few months ago, I asked her where she’d bought that lovely scarlet coat of hers. Unfortunately, its coziness couldn’t help warding off the sniffles that took hold with quite success.
It appears to be a cold at its peak. Fairly sure when considering the yellowish green moisture she dabs off from under her nostrils. They look as droopy as her eyes. Hooray, second-chance education—but juggling between this and your job often puts a strain on you. And in turn on your immune system. Been there, done that. 
“Ha-Ahh-AIGHN’CHOO!”
I attempt to maintain a body language that speaks of indifference—rather than of being keen to watch, contrary to the people around us leaning away. Yet there isn’t much else I want to look at in lieu of her noticeable struggle.
The glaring interior light combined with the darkness outside turn the windows into dull black, mirroring rectangles. Several raindrops run down the glass. In front of it, the woman’s nose apparently starts to participate in the running competition. 
Did the itchy desperation breeze into me? Almost feel like it. I shift my weight and start to click a ballpen. My sounds of anticipation are nothing compared with hers.
More thick sniffling while she makes a move to replace her mask with one hand and smoothes strands of hair back with the other.
It’s as if her body just waited for an opportunity of betrayal. 

 

“Hnge-Ne-EHG’KTSHIUU! Oh jeez, wha—ufhksh!”
Doubling over, like some hidden force wrestles her shoulder blades down, she manages to catch one sneeze in the tissue and stifle the next, but the best things come in threes, as the saying goes. Well, not best for my schoolfellow. It’s evident she didn’t expect a traitor creeping in, sparking further itches in a moment of truce. Deceitful certainty diminishes whereas another tickle rears its head. My neighbor across the aisle is overtaken by the last member of the trio.
“HAAKSHIEEEW!”

 

I can virtually see mist spraying as she fails to contain it with either the tissue or the sleeve she presses against her nose a second later. She steadies herself and, more cautiously, lowers the arm, revealing a faint glinting trail on the fabric.
As if all that sapped every restraint, she rubs her still twitching nose freely.
Those sneezes must’ve set something loose. The bagpipe is pulled out of the mud and a faucet turned on, metaphorically speaking. 
Moreover, the woman sniffles so intensly that creating a vacuum at her philtrum seems possible, but she obviously assumed she could use the sounds of the bus plus the chatter of nearby teenagers as concealment. Yet the Snrrrtsh of snot, which gets sucked back into the depths again, falls right into a moment of silence.
I give a sympathetic smile—it’s a tad harder to convey through a mask, of course—addressed to her and this poor tissue in her hands alike. Two gurgling nose blows later, it develops into a snot rag lamenting its overexertion. I wonder when she’s finally going to send the tatter into retirement, alias into a trash bin. 
Only now it dawns on me that she might not have any of them left. 

 

I rummage around in my bag, don’t even bother with pulling out one tissue and instead offer this sneezy mess of a person the entire pack. I’ve got enough in my apartment because when my ex-boyfriend—Mister No, I don’t ha-achoo-ve bad hay-achoo-fever—moved out, he’d left a chunk of his supply there for whatever reason...
A throaty, yet again stuffy “Thadk you very buch” is returned, muffled during the wiping.
In terms of red shades, her jacket and nose meanwhile display the same. 
“No problem. And bless you, uh, plurally. Feeling under the weather?”
“I swear, it’s these dabd allergies. Far too early, but dever b-igh—” She interrupts herself and makes the tissue experience its own great deluge. “But never mind. My roommates, though, they’re having a cold.”
Ah yeah, merely her roommates are sick. How ironic of her voice to crack at the last word.
“HFF’KTCHOO!”
Another wipe, but one sneaky drop still crosses the finish line. It’s close to trickling down her chin before being caught with another tissue.

 

As intrigued as I am by watching, I now hope I won’t be next. May this mask’s protection be with me. Too much work at my job and exams for my degree ahead. It’s called delivering presentations, not sneezing them.
Grabbing my stuff and heading for the doors to hop off, I glimpse at the notes that were supplanted by this live performance. Like dancers stiffening among the lines, there are numerous gooey droplets in the process of drying up on the paper around my fingers. 
Oh well. 
At least I’m stocked with tissues at home—just in case I’ll keep a potential souvenir from tonight.

*~*~*

The End

[muskysneeze]

Geez, this wouldve been a dream that was..... wet for me if you know what I mean haha. Excellent writing and descriptions of the sneeze, the details of these observations of her sneeze (even though it's based from a dream) is just fabulous. For someone like me who loves mess, this was an amazing read ❤️

[AceUpYourSleeve]

@muskysneeze Glad you enjoyed it! And now that I've done writing something like this, I kinda enjoy it myself—as a story, though. In real life, you'd find me praying to the gods of disinfectants 😆

 

[BunnSnz]

This was a great story big fan of mess