I am a slightly worried soul today. I am concerned that not all is well in the world of my morning-bus travel companions – Beyoncé and her mother Bruiser.
After the twenty minute walk to the bus-stop this morning, I was feeling discomfort. Twinges of pain in my thigh muscles. It felt uncomfortable, but easily explainable. I happened to go on a three hour cycle around Dublin Bay yesterday – my first cycle in about a year. My legs were now screaming in protest at the ordeal I had put them through. I told them to whisht up – I will be going on more cycling trips.
Now that I have experienced how practical and cheap a method it is, for venturing slightly further afield than the city centre, I hope that I will be a regular sight around the city narrowly avoiding instantaneous death while swerving to avoid pedestrians and trucks and potholes.
I reached my stop, and leaned against the railings outside the house. I heard a bizarre, unearthly cackle. ‘Don’t talk to strangers. It’s stranger danger Beyoncé’. Who was this? Who else could a voice that sounded like it had been through fifteen rounds with Mike Tyson, belong to? Only Bruiser – mother of Beyoncé, and regular morning travel-mate.
Something was up however. I was trying to observe the situation discreetly. Under no circumstances could I be caught staring. Bruiser is not a shy woman. Threateningly violent would be a more apt description – I have heard some of the idle threats she has made to fellow passengers of a morning. It is wiser to stay on her good side. Or even better to stay off her radar entirely.
Now perhaps she’d had a poor night’s sleep; or perhaps it was just the Monday morning blues. But this morning, there was also the distinct possibility that she was under the influence of some chemical or liquid substance. Not enough for Beyoncé to miss her school bus. Nonetheless there was a slightly hysterical; delirious; chemically enhanced aura surrounding Bruiser today.
And Beyoncé was not one bit happy about it. She started screaming at Mommie Dearest as they boarded the bus. I have no idea who they were fighting about. A female person – that much I know. Someone who had fallen out with Bruiser and Beyoncé’s family.
Beyoncé was clearly upset at the falling out. Bruiser with her ever present compassion and sympathy told her daughter to ‘shut the fuck up.’ Beyoncé didn’t bat an eyelid. The rest of the bus squirmed in discomfort.
‘Why though?’ mewled Beyoncé, ‘She’s my auntie.’
‘She’s not your auntie, she’s not BLOOD, do you hear me?’
‘WAAH’ was Beyoncé’s reply.
‘Your father only ever tolerated her,’ spat back Bruiser. ‘If she gets in touch again I’ll fucking cut her throat.’
That shut Beyoncé up, along with the rest of the bus. Bruiser was agitated today. And an agitated Bruiser, is best left ignored.
At least Beyoncé will be at school all day. I thought to myself. Under the care of the teachers. Maybe Bruiser can sleep it off? Whatever it is that she is on. I hope so anyway.
Some people are naturally sweary. I don’t know this pair well enough to make any kind of judgement call on their lives. Their lives are tough – that seems self-evident. But I don’t think Bruiser is any danger to Beyoncé. (Although if Beyoncé follows Mommie Dearest’s speech patterns, she’ll be sounding like a sixty-five year old, chain-smoking sailor by the time she is fourteen.)
A strange and unsettling morning.