The Commute

by Edianne Son C. Alquino

Public transportation has never held any charm for me. It's often a
crowded ordeal, with the uncomfortable company of strangers invading your
personal space. My heart's desire was to own my mode of transport, granting me
the freedom to journey as I pleased. To make this dream come true, I toiled
relentlessly, often working overtime to scrape together a bit of extra income. My
home was a considerable distance from my workplace, an inconvenience I had
little choice but to endure.

Eventually, my company relocated to a different site, even farther from

my abode. Honestly, not much else changed aside from the location. My only
options for commuting remained the same: tricycle or bus. Despite the
inconveniences, I leaned toward the bus, as my employer covered the fare, and
they adhered to a more punctual schedule compared to tricycles.

One fine day, weary from a long day's work and eager to embrace the
approaching weekend, I left early. It was a Friday, after all, and the prospect of a
relaxing weekend beckoned. So, I strolled to the nearest bus stop, a place I had
become well-acquainted with, and patiently waited for a bus to arrive.
Eventually, one did, and I hastily climbed aboard.

As I navigated my way through the bus in search of a seat, I couldn't help

but notice that our driver was a woman. Initially, this struck me as unusual, as I
had grown accustomed to seeing men in the driver's seat. Despite these
stereotypes, I found it intriguing but soon dismissed the thought. I settled into
my seat, contemplating what to have for dinner.

During the journey, my attention was drawn to two men communicating

through hand signals. Both were clad in black jackets, with one of average stature
and the other towering over him. My view was obstructed from my position in
the rear, but my heart sank when I glimpsed something sharp concealed in the
tall man's jacket. I could only imagine it to be a knife. I carried a pocketknife
myself, primarily for self-defense, and assumed the same of him.

My blood ran cold as both men rose from their seats, their actions forming
an ominous pattern. I couldn't shake the foreboding sense that this was evolving
into a hostage situation. The bus came to a halt as they approached the driver.
She inquired about their intentions, but they remained silent. A sense of dread
hung in the air, but curiously, no one on the bus seemed inclined to intervene.
The passengers maintained a tense silence, doing their best to ignore the
unfolding drama.
 For reasons unknown even to me, I suddenly shouted, an outburst that
drew one of the men towards me. He delivered a punch and ordered me to
silence myself, which I promptly obeyed. The driver then rose from her seat, and
all three of them exited the bus.

The bus remained locked, and we passengers were trapped inside, far
from civilization, near the edge of a cliff. The bus keys were conspicuously absent
from the ignition. A quarter of an hour passed before they returned, leaving me
bewildered. They resumed their seats, and it was evident that the driver had
been subjected to unwarranted harassment, yet no one appeared to care.

The driver approached me and requested that I disembark. I was

flabbergasted and incensed. Why should she treat me this way when I had been
the lone voice of support for her? I hesitated but eventually complied, feeling
humiliated as I stepped off the bus. To my horror, as I prepared for a long walk, I
witnessed the bus veer off the road, crash through the guardrail, and plunge into
the abyss below.