The Sweltering Bus Ride

"Do you mind?" the snoody lady in front of me asks.

Don't know why she's so huffy. I'm not even touching her anymore.

But I move back, pulling my face away from hers, and sit in my own seat. The bus sucks in summer. There's no air conditioning, and the windows are glued shut. The driver says he doesn't want the pollen coming in and "dusting up" the pleather seats.

The woman in front of me has one of those portable fans. A little pink plastic wand that's way louder than it needs to be. I can still feel the occasional slip of warm wind, as she flicks the wand over her face, even though I've inched back a ways.

It's pretty greedy of her if you ask me. Everyone's side-eyeing her now, secretly pleading for her to share. Even some other lady's curly-haired lapdog is panting in her direction.

I try to distract myself by looking out the window. I don't know what's more infuriating, watching the heat waves quiver against the black pavement, or watching her brown hair tumble backward toward my sweaty face.

I shift forward to flap my shirt free of sweat on my back. My thighs stick to the seat, and when I peel them off, a new burning rises through my body. Her hair tickles my cheek and gets stuck in the sweat on my forehead.

When a second clump of hair flips back and pokes my eye, I can't take the teasing anymore.

"C'mon, lady," I whisper, leaning over her again. "Just give me a second with the fan. I'll give it right back."

Guess my hot breath doesn't feel all that good because she jumps up and acts disgusted, furrowing her moist brow.

"I told you, no!" she hisses.

The woman holding the dog watches our fight. She looks like she's about ready to pant, too. Her poodle yelps once, which brings all the attention back our way and onto the fan.

She grips it tighter, but I can see it slowly sliding out of her fingers, due to her wet hands.

"It would be awfully nice of you to share," the other woman murmurs. Her dog pants louder, as if on cue.

There is an older man across from us, competing with the dog in dramatics. He massages the muscles in his shoulder while wildly fanning himself with his book.

"Must be nice to have some fancy tech to cool you," he huffs.

The woman with the fan rolls her eyes and pretends not to hear him. But the bus is soon an uproar of whining.

"Wish I had a fan like that."

"You must be so hot, aren't you, boy?"

"The sun is coming in even brighter on this side!"

"I'm dying back here!"

"Think of the children!"

The lady glances back at me, but I don't offer any help. I point to the fan and wiggle my eyebrows in a hopeful fanfair.

"Ugh, fine! Just, I don't know. All of you jerks, just get over here!" the woman cracks.

She turns the fan on full blast as everyone crowds around. The man climbs over me, and others swarm just as close. The instant relief of warm wind washes over us, but it is fleeting, since we have to share the mini fan between eight people, two little kids, and a fluffy dog.

We push our faces together and take in the sweet relief of air. Even the dog's cool slobber, whipping backwards onto us, is a huge relief on my hot skin.

The bus comes to a sudden stop. We lurch forward then crash back down onto our sticky seats. My skin ripping off the pleather burns hot and wild.

"Hey, what about me?" the driver asks.

The woman with the fan rolls her eyes again, "Ugh, get over here."

For a few minutes we are at peace, allowing the buzzing fan to give us each a few seconds of bliss. But then, the fan hums low, and the blades halt. The pressing heat becomes stifling with so many faces hovering around mine.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Don't tell me the fan's dead already!"

"This sucks!"

"Did you even charge it before leaving the house?"

"I bet you didn't even pack a battery!"

"Think of the children!"

The woman clenches her fan so tightly, I think it might shatter. Her eye twitches once, then she stands. Her skin peeling off the seat makes a Velcro-ripping sound.

The moment another rider opens their mouth to complain, she raises her mini fan as a blunt weapon and strikes, bashing them on the head with the pink wand.

The driver runs back behind the wheel, as the rest of us face her wrath. We scramble away from her blows, but the heat makes our muscles slow. The children and the dog are the only ones spared.

As she's beating the hell out of me, I can't help but enjoy the breeze coming off her flailing arms.