My New Best Friend

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‘Say something tae me.’
The man sits, half-turned, facing the other passengers.
‘Please?’
His voice is plaintive, non-threatening; at odds with his torn clothing and abundant tattoos.  Most people in the bus have an urgent text to send; those who don’t have a mobile stare out in the dark night with determination.  Two women move to the lower deck.
‘Why doesnae anybody say anything nice tae me?’
I am close to the man.  The text I am tapping tells of my day, of the film I saw with a friend;  matters of life and death.  I glance; the man locks eyes with me and doesn’t let go.
‘Say something nice tae me, please.’
 ‘How was your day then?’  My voice sounds funny.  I feel a collective sigh of relief emanating from the other passengers.  They’re off the hook.
‘Crap, man, total crap.’ He waves a half-empty bottle of cider.  ‘My best pal died.’  A tear falls on the dirty floor.  ‘I went tae the funeral today.  His parents chucked me oot; didnae want me tae be there.  Blame me for what happened.’  He cries, heaving sobs with the odd racking cough in between.
‘You were trying to be a good friend; going to the funeral and all.’  How do you say a kind word to someone who is waving a bottle like a weapon and crying his eyes out?
‘I jus’ wanted tae say something nice to him, like.’
‘I’m sure he knows,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry you lost your friend.’
‘You’re a friend.  You’re nice tae me.  Not like the others.’  He jabs at the rest of the passengers.
I press the buzzer and touch his arm, somewhere between his torn sleeve and a tattoo of a naked woman.
'Mind how you go now.'
I get off at Queen Street and cross the road before the bus.  He waves.

My New Best Friend.  I wonder what my parents would think of him.

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Thank you! Be your nose a pointer for your brain! (OED)

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