The rain pattered hard against the windows on the bus. It hummed along while it was weaving through the city to each destination. With each stop, it was the same image, a drenched person, shaking off the water on their coat, looking to find a seat. The lights seemed to struggle to keep up with encroaching darkness of the storm.
“My wife, she’s at home. She texted and said she was cooking pot roast. She makes a fantastic pot roast.” Alfred said to the dark-skinned woman next to him. She smiled politely as Alfred talked. Alfred was used to this type of conversation. He would commonly see people politely interacting with him, even if they didn’t want to.
“She takes the pork roast, not the beef roast. She’s very adamant about that.” Alfred gestured with his hand. He knew that he could get her to see how great his story is if he just told her the secret recipe. The woman hummed in agreement to what he was saying. Keeping her smile polite and her eyes friendly.
“She takes the pork roast, rubs it over with a sea salt and peppercorn rub. She makes sure to get it all inside the edges of the roast. Then she gives it a nice smokey bath. It has to be the real stuff, a bit of beer, liquid smoke, and beef broth.” He started laughing. He grabbed her arm gently as he laughed so hard. “When she uses the bit of beer, I always finish it off for her. I know she’s giving me a beer,” he wrinkled his nose to show how playful she could be, “but she plays it off as if she needs help finishing the can of beer.”
He looked out the window, pausing to let her laugh. The pattering was steady, it didn’t seem to be hitting the windows hard. The lights still flickered slightly with each bump on the road. The bus hummed along. It stopped again. The door creaked open, someone got on. Alfred turned, the lady next to him stood up. She smiled politely at him as she walked off the bus. The encroaching darkness was overpowering inside the bus cabin.
He was alone. The rushing of the traffic by the bus made him look out the window again. The bus turned out into traffic again, and it started to hum along as it left the bus stop.
Alfred laughed loud. Louder than was appropriate to everyone on the bus. The woman across from him on the bus looked worried he would try to talk to her, too.
“And you know what she says when she walks in? Do you know?” He had the biggest, broadest smile he could make at that moment.
“She says, “Honey, what are you doing? I can’t wait.”” Alfred slapped his knee, laughing again. The bus lurched to a stop at the next bus stop. Alfred looked at the number, it was his stop. He stood, and started shuffling down the aisle. His shoes squeaking down the aisle, rubbing against the water and rubber at the bottom of the aisle.
He reached the front of the bus, reached over for the railing. It was slick with air moisture. He carefully dropped down onto each step. However, each step felt like he was dropping his entire weight each time.
The bus door unceremoniously shut as the bus drove off after Alfred walked off. He looked up at the tall building. The rain creating sheets of water, flowing down the sides of the apartment building. He walked to the door, opened it up. His boots squeaking as he moved inside the building. With the door shut, the rain pattered consistently against the glass. A long, hard gust of wind caused the rain the patter faster, harder.
The elevator button dinged loud instantly when he pressed the button. The cart was already at the lobby level. He walked onto the cart and pressed for the 7th floor. It closed shut and hummed as he felt his body lift to his floor. The door opened. Alfred paused at a window overlooking the street. He could see the people sitting in their apartments, hotel rooms, people walking, people taking, people living. He smiled. Alfred looked up at the sky, the clouds were thick, dense, full of moisture. It wasn’t going to stop raining anytime soon. He smiled again.
He shuffled down the hallway to room 715. It was down a long hall and to the left from the elevators. He moved his arms back, shoving his oversized coat back to pull the keys deep in his pocket.
He heard steps walking behind him. It was Mrs. Triffon from a few doors down. She always seemed to give him a weird look. He wasn’t pleased by her look, but he smiled anyway. He could smell his wife’s cooking.
“Baby! I’m home! Oh, man. What are you cooking? I’m smelling it!” He said excitedly, walking into the apartment.
“I’ll tell you what, you won’t believe what I was saying on the bus on my way home.” He delicately put down the few groceries that were in his hands on the table. The paper bag crinkled gently as he pulled out a glass of wine. He emptied out the fruit and opened the fridge. He looked around the fridge, only finding the small bits of snacks he had finished this week.
“Well, I was telling them about your cooking and how when you come home you always say, “Honey, what are you doing? I can’t wait!” Can you believe it? I actually told them that.” He opened the cupboard where the glasses were located and pulled two glasses out. He rinsed off the dust that had accumulated on them in the sink. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a cork screw to open the wine. He poured the wine in the glasses.
“Oh, man that smell. What is it? Is it that pork roast?” He asked. He shivered from the cold in the apartment. After pouring the glasses he walked into the bedroom. He sat down a glass of wine on the nightstand.
“That’s for you, my love.” He said, looking at her in her eyes. The skin around her eyes had been getting more dry lately. The smell of her body was already becoming a nuisance to the neighbors. It wouldn’t be long now. No, they would know soon enough. He couldn’t keep her much longer. He was able to keep away the flies but the smell, he could never get rid of the smell.