Margaret-Joyce Minerva C.
Openness can choke you. Secrets can choke you.
She walked with confidence. In her black suede wedge boots, but she kept her hair over part of her face and her hood covering her head. The hood that came from her army green worn out coat, that covered her loose t-shirt.
Some people called her Margaret. Some people only knew her as Joyce. The people who thought they knew her well, knew her as Minerva. However, no one knew her as Margaret-Joyce Minerva, let alone the fact that she didn’t even know her own last name.
She always stood tall, shoulders back. Her backpack never weighed her down. She was an open book with a cup of coffee at a table by the fire to a stranger, but she was introverted and silent standing there at the bus stop. She was dark, but she was light. She could fight if she needed to.
Margaret-Joyce Minerva never stayed in the same place for long. She’d be so open with someone, and a lie would come out, secrets began to curl off her fingers like magical spells. So, Margaret-Joyce Minerva would leave.
Being so open with someone, even just a friend choked her to death. Keeping secrets from everyone, even from a romance choked her to death. It was a never ending spiral. In order to make friends, she needed to be open, but as soon as a mistake was made, she only wanted to keep her secrets.
Burning bridges became an easy talent after awhile. She didn’t have a Facebook, or a Twitter, just a private Instagram with a handful followers. She’d post her selfies, dark and depressing, she’d post pictures with a few people having a drink, they’d be so light and happy. Lights tend to burn out, she learned. Darkness can be comfortable if you’re in it too long.
Rain fell, the white noise of tires roaring on wet highways kept Margaret-Joyce Minerva asleep. People came and people went, no one sat next to this dark girl asleep on the seat over the wheel well. No one woke her, the bus driver even forgot about her.
“Excuse me.” A voice, soothing and soft, “can I sit here, the bus is full.”
Margaret-Joyce Minerva woke enough to nod her head. Slowly, she sat up, wiped her eyes. The realization that she had no idea where she was hit her like a brick to a window.
“Where am I?” she said quietly to the stranger next to her.
He had dark wavy hair down to his shoulders. His eyes were a green that even emeralds would envy, rimmed with thick black framed glasses.
“We are just about to leave Seattle, headed towards Oregon.” He spoke again in that soothing soft voice.
The sound cut down to her core. She cleared her throat and looked around. She had been on this bus for far too long. She tried to hide her discomfort.
“What’s your name? I’m Jake.” He said, holding up his hand.
Joyce looked at it. Personal contact always made her feel uncomfortable. She looked from his face to his hand a few times, her body language screaming SOCIALLY AWKWARD. Jake put his hand down. Joyce felt the warmth of her cheeks grow, a sure fire sign that she was blushing, not from flirtation, but from humiliation. She managed a half smile, almost never a real smile, and held up her hand.
“Sorry, I’m kind of awkward sometimes.” she said quietly, “My name is,” she had a slight pause, quickly thinking of which name to use on this new person, “Minerva.”
The notion of giving, Jake, this stranger the name she only used for important people, shocked her. What am I doing? She thought. Jake reached forward and shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Minerva.” He said with a smile.
There was something about him that she trusted. Something in his eyes that took hold of her and didn’t want to let go.
The bus ride was quiet. Margaret-Joyce Minerva stared out the window for the most of the ride. When the bus pulled into a stop somewhere between Longview and Vancouver, Jake stands to get off the bus.
