I have to get out of Logan Square.

"Who you with?"
"No one."
He demanded to know again. "Who you with?"
"No one man."
He leaned out, so his back was to the aisle, and he kept pulling the hood of his sweatshirt closer to his face, so to make sure no one else could see him. "Don't lie to me Nigga. I know. Who the fuck you with?"
"Really, no one."
"Bullshit, nigga. I'm a King. I can tell."

He was bald, about 6'3". He had a thin mustache, and some hair on his chin. His stare bore into me, his pupils huge from some sort of drug. His head was cocked slightly to the side the whole time, and he struggled to keep his eyes completely open.

"What are you listening to?"
"Rodrigo y Gabriella."
"What the fuck is that?"
I told him it was Spanish guitar. He wouldn't like it.
He leaned his head very close to mine and "I want to hear it" escaped from clenched teeth. He never took his eyes off me.
I handed him my headphones, but didn't hand him the player. He listened, and asked what else I had on it.
"Not much."
"I think I'll take it, and find out myself."
He tried to reach into my pocket to grab my mp3 player out of it. I grabbed his wrist firmly. "No."
"What motherfucker?" Suddenly his eyes opened all the way. His pupils became a little smaller. His focus was tangible.
I told him that he, in fact, was not taking it.
He looked at me, unsure of how to react. He decided by throwing my headphones back at me. "Keep it bitch. But get the fuck up. We're getting out. We gonna fight."
I slowly placed the headphones in my pocket and met his gaze. "Alright."

"What nigga? You wanna fight?"
"Of course not." I'm not sure how steady my voice sounded. I stood up.
"You don't wanna fight? Then why'd you say okay?"
I stared at him for a second before giving my reply. "If we're gonna fight, we're gonna fight. Ain't nothin I can do about that but defend myself."
He pointed to the door, and said "You first."
Instead of getting out the back door of the bus, I slowly walked to the front of the bus, and just stood by the door. He didn't follow me, but stood by the back door. Waiting for me to get off.

So we waited. A block went by. Then 2 more. We picked up some passengers, and still I stood by the front door. He sat down, but didn't avert his look.
A few blocks later, and we hit some traffic. He was looking out the window. He looked out, then to his side, then to his back.
As he was looking back, I asked the driver if I could just get out here. He said nothing, but the door opened, and I slipped quickly out. I took a few quick steps til I got to the corner, and made the turn.

I didn't look back until I had sprinted halfway down the street.The sun was setting, and I couldn't tell who the person was, walking down the street toward me. I turned back around and continued my hard sprint. Around that first corner, and I kept running. This block was empty. I got halfway down the street, and turned back to look again. Still empty. I slowed my pace, but continued to jog to the next street, looking over my shoulder two or three more times. I turned left, and slowed to walk. As soon as I got to the next busy street, I leaned on the streetlight. Finally, after I caught my breath, I walked slowly to the train station. I didn't see him again.



I'd have thought eventually I'd get used to situations like this. But I haven't. I don't think I ever will.