Upside Down(31)

I shrugged. “What about porridge? It starts out as a liquid, grains are added, and it’s heated to a thicker consistency. But we don’t call it oatmeal soup. And a few differing ingredients aside, what separates a Bloody Mary from gazpacho? That one is consumed from a glass or straw and the other with a spoon. Angus and I discussed this at great length the other night, and he thought you might be able to shed some light.”

Hennessy laughed. “I’m not sure I’m really qualified to answer that question.”

I sighed. “I knew I should have just stuck to one of my own.”

“And what would that have been?”

“My questions? Easy ones like do you have any tattoos? Or what’s the coolest place you’ve ever travelled to? You know the basic, getting-to-know-you, gaining-some-insight kind of questions.”

The bus pulled into his stop and he let go of my hand, stood up, and squeezed past me. “Yes, I have one. And Nepal.”

I watched him get off the bus, and my heart banged in my ribs when he looked up and smiled at me as the bus pulled away. Again, my mind was stuck on how my hand felt empty now he’d let it go, and it took a few seconds for his answers to the questions I’d asked to make sense. Yes, he has one tattoo, and he’s been to Nepal.

The lady in front of me turned and said, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. And yesterday’s. I think the questions are cute.”

Then a guy across the aisle leaned across and said, “He’s been to Nepal? That’s smooth.”

The lady behind me tapped me on the shoulder. “I think he has a crush on you.”

I side-eyed the three of them. “Is this The Truman Show? Am I on television right now? Because what even is my life?”

An older man one seat back across the aisle answered. “I heard your soup question, son. I think there’s a pretty good chance your life is a mess.”

And so, for the remainder of my bus ride home, random strangers on the 353 bus discussed my life, The Truman Show, and soup.

Fuck my life.





Chapter Eight





Hennessy





I read our text exchange for what must have been the tenth time.

Just so you know, we may need to find a new bus to catch. People on this one are discussing our questions, gazpacho (which one lady keeps calling gestapo), and Nepal. They’ve heard our questions every day, and I think they’re more invested in us than Merry and Angus. Which is a lot.

That’s a shame. I like that bus. There’s a cute guy that gets on at the library.

Tell me about it. There’s a total hottie that gets off on Cleveland. He wears headphones and I like to think he listens to audiobooks and not music.

That reminds me. I need a new audiobook recommendation. Know anyone at the local library who can give me suggestions?

Maybe… There might be a guy.

Is he cute?

Kinda. A bit awkward tho. Says motherfucker a lot.

LOL I have a joke. Wanna hear it?

Sure!

What do Oedipus and Hamlet have in common?

IDK. What?

They’re both motherfuckers.

HAHAHA best joke ever! I’m cry-laughing. Actual, physical tears. People on the bus have stopped talking about soup and are now staring at me.

You’re welcome.

I’m going to have that printed on a shirt. And a literary joke? You win all the points.

Glad you liked it.

I’ll have the best question ready for you tomorrow, so be prepared.

Can’t wait



* * *



I slid my phone onto my desk and Michael caught me smiling at it.

“Is that what’s-his-name? Jordan?” He fluttered his eyelashes.

“Shut up.”

“So that’s a yes. I think I might need to meet this guy.”

“What? I’ve been out with him once.”

“And you talk on the bus every day, and you get hearts in your eyes every time you think of him, you have conversations via text, and you never smiled at your phone like that with Rob.”

I wanted to roll my eyes but refused to give him the satisfaction. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

His smile faded. “Yeah, of course.”

“Why isn’t cereal considered to be or called a soup?”

He stared. “Cereal?”

“Yeah, like rice bubbles or corn flakes. It’s a grain product immersed in liquid and eaten hot or cold.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you feeling okay?”

I laughed. “I feel great.”

He stared out the window at the grey Sydney day. “Well, I guess soups are vegetable or meat based, like the broth part. Whereas cereal is dairy based, like the broth, er… liquid part.”

“So what does that make cream of mushroom soup?”

“Gross, that’s what that is.”

“Or cream of chicken soup? It’s dairy.”

“It’s savoury,” Michael said. “With meat. Cereal isn’t and doesn’t have meat in it.”

“Not all soup is savoury. And not all cereal is sweet.”

“That’s true.”

“Jordan asked me this yesterday, and it’s ridiculous but I can’t stop thinking about it.”