The Last Bus from UNISA
Pretoria, night
As the night’s embrace began to loosen, the stark reality of our impending departure nudged us back towards the hotel. The beautiful scenery we were leaving behind seemed to echo our reluctance. A member of the YALI staff had announced the imminent departure of the last bus to the hotel. Our time at UNISA was curtailed, as some of us, including myself, had early flights to catch and needed to retire early to avoid missing our journeys home. The bus was parked a modest distance away, a walkable stretch, but the ladies were in heels, so a leisurely pace was in order. From the building, elevators could have swiftly transported us to the ground floor; however, I, yearning for more time with Vanessa, persuaded them to opt for the stairs instead, much to my relief when the elevator dallied in its arrival.
I am usually one to walk briskly, preferring not to dawdle on the road, but on this occasion, I wished for nothing more than to slow my pace to a crawl. With Vanessa by my side, what else could possibly urge me to away hasten? My hands were pocketed as we descended the stairs, and Vanessa mentioned she felt a chill in the air. I offered her my English long blazer, which she declined, but I reassured myself silently. Amusingly, Denisa apologised for her presence, aware that such moments often call for solitude. Nevertheless, she remained with us. As we took the stairs outside the front door, Denisa stumbled slightly, and I assisted her, earning what I hoped were favourable impressions from Vanessa.
Now, with the bus some 80 to 100 meters, I extended my arm to Vanessa, inviting her to take it, as her Englishman. It was an occurrence I had never anticipated, but perhaps the time spent admiring the view had softened her disposition towards me. Why, though, on this last day, the final night, the concluding hours together? She accepted my hand, placing hers within mine, and we walked towards the bus, her hand gently resting next to mine. In those fleeting moments, we were not merely acquaintances but a couple, seemingly intertwined by destiny. The warmth of her touch lingered, a silent vow in the cool evening air. How I yearned for the bus to be miles away, or better yet, for us to abandon it entirely and embark on a leisurely stroll to the hotel, regardless of the distance. Or perhaps, to simply stand there, enveloped in the night’s embrace, until the break of dawn.
For a brief interlude, I forgot all the efforts I had made to be close to her, wondering if perhaps they had finally borne fruit. Had I won her heart? These thoughts swirled in my mind as we made our way to the bus. What mattered most was to live in the moment, to forget everything else and just be there, hand in hand with my lady, heading for the bus. Denisa continued with us, her smile broadening upon seeing our entwined hands. I am quite certain it was a sight she had longed to witness, having been my steadfast wingman. Her acquaintance had moved ahead, leaving her behind, and she kept remarking on my gentlemanly behaviour with Vanessa and the significance of our hand-holding gesture. It was a sweet affirmation. Why did the bus have to be so nearby?
The beauty of that encounter lay in its simplicity — the first time our hands clasped, and the last. We did not say that out loud. We did not need to. As we reached the bus, the only question left was whether we would sit next to each other. We did.
We talked a lot on that ride. More than we had talked in three weeks, which is saying something given how much engineering had gone into every previous conversation. But this time there was no strategy involved. The programme was over, the buses were going back to the hotel for the last time, and there was nothing left to position. So we just talked.
At some point she told me about the situationship. There was someone back home. A software developer. I sat with that information for a moment. Part of me wondered whether this was the answer to all of it — the dinner that was never just dinner, the careful responses, the warmth that stopped just short of something. She had someone, or something close to someone, and she had known that the whole time while I had been calculating angles and sharing earbuds and planting headdresses in her bag.
I am someone who respects that. If a woman tells me she is taken, I receive that information and I move accordingly. But she had not told me until now, on the last bus, in the last hour. I do not say that as an accusation. I understand it. These things are complicated, she had said herself. And a situationship is its own kind of complicated — not fully in, not fully out, which maybe explains why she never fully shut the door either.
I respected him, the software developer. I respect that field. But I will be honest: one of the thoughts that passed through my head, briefly and slightly ridiculously, was whether it would have made a difference if I had been one. I have done machine learning. I appreciate code. I could learn. Whether I would learn an entire discipline to change the outcome of a bus conversation on the last night of a three-week programme is a question I will leave unanswered. I am just telling you the thought existed.
What struck me most was how committed she seemed to him, even in describing something she called a situationship. She was loyal to something that had not fully claimed her. And I found myself thinking that she deserved better than that — not me, I am not saying me, I am saying someone who would be clear about wanting her, completely and without ambiguity. A person like Vanessa should not have to live in the in-between. She was too deliberate for that. Too precise. She questioned Bukowski. She applied for Chevening. She translated her own writing for a man she had known three weeks, standing in the dark outside a dining hall in Pretoria. That is not someone who settles.
We talked about life not being fair. I said something along those lines that life being unfair to everyone is, in some strange way, what makes it fair. She considered that. I do not know if she agreed. The bus kept moving. The hotel got closer. Neither of us tried to slow it down.
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