The 143 bus rumbled through the Southside, rolling over potholes that the city kept promising to fix. Rush hour was over, leaving only the night shift workers, insomniacs, addicts and those with nowhere particular to be.
Jamal and Keisha sat on the back row, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around her. They'd been together three months—long enough to their love and affection for each other in public.
Across from them sat an elderly man in a worn camouflage army jacket, holding his cane between his knees. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, eyes were red but still sharp enough to catch the young couple's every move. He shifted slightly, angling his good ear toward them.
"My neck hurts," Keisha whined playfully, massaging the back of her neck.
Jamal grinned, leaning in close. "Let me kiss it, babe." His lips brushed over the back of her neck. "Is it better now?"
Keisha giggled, the sound out against the bus's mechanical grumbling. "Yes. But now my cheek hurts."
"Let me kiss it, my love hold up baby which cheeks are you talking about?!." Keisha burst out laughing and says “My face crazy!” “Ohh okay as Jamal pressed his lips to her cheek. "How about now?"
The old man shifted in his seat, slightly as he adjusted his position. Then he smack his lips, but his eyes never left the young couple. Tighten his grip on the handle of his cane.
"It's better," Keisha said. "But now my eye hurts bae."
"Let me kiss it, my love." Jamal's lips brushed her eyelid. "How does it feel now?"
"It's so much better," Keisha said with a lazy smile. "But now my lips hurt."
The old man leaned forward with unexpected quickness, his cane made a loud sound as it hit the floor. The couple turned, suddenly aware they had an audience.
Jamal paused, his face inches from Keisha's. "Let me kiss it, my queen—"
"Pardon me, young man," the elderly man interrupted them, his voice like diesel tractor. "Excuse me young man but do you per chance heal hemorrhoids?"
The bus erupted. The elderly woman in the front seat of the bus with grocery bags thought the young man was a doctor. The security guard heading home from his shift slumped down in the seat from laughing so hard. You could even see the bus driver shaking his head in the rear view mirror.
Keisha's face burned as she pulled Jamal to his feet. "This our stop," she said, though it wasn't.
As they squeezed past the other passengers, the elderly woman in the front of the bus with the gray hair and too much perfume grabbed Jamal's wrist. Her hand was sweaty and soft with her nails dug into his skin.
"Can you cure yeast infections?" she asked, loud enough for the entire bus to hear.
Laughter broke again this time it rocked the bus. Jamal yanked his arm free, following Keisha's quick exit.
The bus doors hissed closed behind them. They stood on an unfamiliar corner as the 143 pulled away, still echoing with laughter.
"Damn," Jamal said finally. "We gotta walk seven blocks now."
Keisha's couldn’t hold it in no longer, and she burst out laughing. "Your face when that old lady grabbed you!" “Can you cure yeast infections!”
"Whatever. Those old folks just jealous," Jamal said, pulling her close. "Now, where were we? Something about your lips hurting?"
In the distance, another bus approached. Keisha kissed him quickly, then pulled back with a grin. "Maybe we take this one without the healing session, Dr. Love."