Open Writing

I don't particularly like travelling by bus; I much prefer to go by train. However, this bus would drop me right outside the theatre, so bus it would have to be.

It was pouring with rain AND the woman in front of me shook
out her umbrella all over my very flimsy, definitely-not-for-rain coat AND there was only one seat AND the seat was wet AND when I sat down the chap next to me kept making funny slurping noises.

I was properly fed up with myself.

Slurp, suck, slurp.

They were quite interesting slurping noises, actually, but I couldn't make out why the man next to me was slurping and it seemed really rude to look, although I was consumed by curiosity.

Slurp, suck, slurp.

I couldn't resist any longer. Surreptitiously I glanced at him.

Suddenly, he spoke. "Me teeth," he said.

"Pardon?"

"It's me teeth. They're new 'uns. Don't fit right. They keep dropping out. Like that... see..."

He picked up his top teeth from his lap where they had fallen when he spoke, and stuck them back in his mouth, giving a quite astonishingly loud slurp.

I didn't laugh, honestly I didn't, but it was hard; he was looking at me so apologetically.

"I have to keep sucking 'em up to keep 'em in. It's a right pest."

I bit my lip trying not to laugh. "Can't you get some... adhesive stuff... or something?" I said, helpfully.

"Nowt'll," slurp, "fix this lot, lass," he said.

"Oh... right." I sat in empathetic silence, then I ventured, noticing there
was a twinkle in his eye and lots of laughter lines around his eyes.

"Have you tried Superglue!"

He began to laugh and at last I could give vent to my own pent-up up giggles and laugh with him. We laughed and laughed and, sympathetic as I was, I did not pick up his teeth from his knee when they fell out of his mouth again.

"Aw bugger it!" he said, picking up the teeth and putting them in his pocket.
"That's better," he said, "I can't stand having to suck me teeth in every time I say a word." His eyes twinkled. "I would've tried Superglue, but I tried to stick me grandson's toy car with it one day. It didn't stick the car, like, but I had to walk round with a tube of superglue stuck to me hand for about a week."

He paused for a minute while we both pictured it. "To be honest," he said, at last, "I didn't fancy walking round with me top teeth in me hand for a week!"

We both laughed so loudly that a woman behind us said, "Shush," really crossly. We glanced at each other and the laughter started again, until we were doubled up with it and tears were streaming down our faces.

The woman was becoming really angry. "If it's that funny," she said, "perhaps we could all hear it!"

I bit my lip. The man turned round so that he could face the woman who was sitting behind us. I turned also and could see lots of pairs of very interested eyes wondering what was going to happen next.

"It's me top teeth..." he began, politely.

"You haven't got any top teeth!" she said.

"No, I've just taken 'em out."

"Well, what's so funny about that! You should have glued 'em in.”

Whereupon we both fell about laughing again. It must have been infectious for quite a lot of people in the bus were smiling and laughing.

My friend took his teeth out of his pocket and held them up. "Me daft teeth," he said to his audience, "keep falling out."

This was greeted by more nods and laughter and a "got the same trouble meself, mate!" by a chap at the back.

Apart from the woman behind us everyone on the bus seemed to be having as good a time as we were. There was quite a lot of noise and laughter and my friend and I chatted happily for some time.

As people got up to leave, they said goodbye or nodded to us and grinned. It began to feel like a family outing.

"Ee, lass," my friend said, at last, "I haven't enjoyed meself so much for ages."

"Me neither," I said, wiping my eyes.

"I've got to get off soon," he said.

I was sorry about that. "I'm sorry about that," I said, "going somewhere nice?"

"I'm going to see my lass," he said.

"Your daughter?"

"No," he said, "me wife."

"Oh?" I wasn't going to be nosy, well, short of actually asking him point blank why he was going to see his wife.

I must have looked a bit questioning though, for he looked at me as if weighing me up and then making a decision, spoke: "She's in a hospice," he said, "cancer - couple of weeks, they think."

"Oh," I said, shocked and ashamed of my nosiness, "I'm so sorry."

"No," he said, very gently, reaching out a hand, but carefully not touching me, "don't be sorry. We had 52 years together. Right good 'uns, I'll tell ya. Love of me life. Dead lucky, we were."

We looked at each other, silently, for a long moment. Then he took his teeth out of his pocket and grinned shakily.

"Best put me teeth in," he said, at last, "got to look good for my lass."

"You look fine to me without your teeth," I said, truthfully. It was a bit hard to speak, actually, because I had a lump the size of a boulder in my throat.

"I do?"

"Yes, you do."

"Right then," he said, "bugger the teeth."

He put them back in his pocket and stood up. "See ya," he said, pausing at the top of the bus steps and smiling gently.

"I hope so," I said and meant it, though I knew we would never meet again.

I watched him as he went slowly down the steps and off the bus. I watched him as he began to walk along the street. I watched as he walked, shoulders hunched, thinking himself unobserved, thinking with sadness of the short time he had left with his wife, his "lass".

As the bus moved out I turned round and looked out of the window. I saw his hand going to his pocket. I held my breath.

Soon he would be out of my sight. He paused. His shoulders straightened decisively, his hand briskly, firmly came out of his pocket... minus his top teeth!

I sat back in my seat and smiled quietly to myself. I was so glad that I had caught the bus and not the train.