It’s very cold, very wet, and very dark out this
morning. The eight of us waiting at the
bus stop each form a one-man huddle for warmth, then move in unison, like a school
of fish, as the bus rounds the curve and approaches our stop. It’s a mindless thing, shuffling aboard, scanning
the ORCA card; then we seamlessly switch into mental overdrive - scanning
quickly and efficiently for a spot to sit (“not by him, too talkative; not by
her, too many packages; never by that one, those kids are out of control”) while
simultaneously avoiding the eyes of those watching us board. Humans are endlessly interesting.
After I sit I find I’m restless this morning, no desire to
read, so instead I begin to daydream a bit.
At the next stop my friend, the little guy who caused a ruckus one
evening in the tunnel by singing and being generally obnoxious, gets on. I’ve begun calling him Squirrely Joe for lack
of a real name. (In my inner monologue,
everyone is a “Joe” – my dog is wiggly Joe or smelly Joe, depending on the
circumstances.) Squirrely Joe has been a
model citizen ever since that first day, and I continue to wonder about
him. Today I watch him covertly as he
fiddles with his iPhone and drowses, and I extrapolate several scenarios that
may have made him act out that evening…most of which include some kind of
medication (or lack thereof). The
mystery continues; I wonder if I’ll ever know?
Across from me is a massive young man. We’re on the side-facing seats at the center
of the bus, in the rotating circle, with accordion folds behind each of us. There are two seats on my side, two on his. He fills 80% of his two seats and has a
large, very full backpack besides. He
gets on at my stop - I’ve seen him several times, but he never speaks or meets
anyone’s eyes. We’re a generally
friendly group who at least wishes each other good morning, but not this
one. Being socially awkward myself I do know
the signs of an introvert, but he goes above and beyond. “Next time I’ll say hi and see what happens”,
I think, but today I just observe. His
hair is that indiscriminate light brown that is so common and forgettable, but
it’s frothy and fluffy like cotton candy, curling and swirling above his enormous
head. His glasses are wire rimmed and
the lenses are covered in fingerprints and who knows what. He wears a bland grey or beige tee shirt
under a corduroy jacket the same bland color as his hair, paired with jeans and
sneakers. The backpack is silver grey
and bulges at every possible spot with some kind of protrusion. What does he carry? I assume he’s in college, he appears to be in
his 20s, but could be older. But who
needs everything they own, every day, even at school? What catches my eye and my fancy today are
three tiny buttons he wears on the jacket’s lapel. One shows a female anime character – I’m not
terribly surprised. Another says “Jesus
is coming – look busy!” and that makes me smile, because I have that same
button. A third inexplicably depicts a
strawberry. Nothing else. No logo, no design, just a picture of a
strawberry. I am fascinated and
befuddled.
At the last stop before the freeway a young man enters the
bus. He’s very well turned out; hair
gelled just so, navy cashmere sweater over a sunshine yellow button down shirt,
well-fitting dark khakis and cognac dress shoes. He sits in the empty seat next to me and then
I notice his ears…he has giant metal circles stretching out the piercing in his
earlobes – they must be at least 1” across.
I shudder a bit – I don’t mind piercings but for some reason, earlobe
plugs turn my stomach. I wonder where he
works? I’ve seen him before so I assume
he is commuting (no overfilled backpack here), but where could he work where the
ears are appropriate with his dress?
I wish I could follow all the regulars on the bus to see
where they spend their days…the artificial intimacy of the transit system has
me feeling that we’re some kind of massive, dysfunctional family and I long to
understand what prompts the journey for everyone. Maybe someday.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
It’s a very chilly Fall morning; the sun is low on the
horizon still and dawn sends a pink mist over the mountains to the North as I
wait for the bus. I climb aboard half
asleep and settle in my favorite spot, wrapped in gloves and scarf and Muse’s
new music, my Kindle on JP Moreland.
Across from me is an awkward young man I assume to be a
college student. He has beautifully golden
blond waves that tangle in a thousand cowlicks, and a hint of ginger lies in
the three-day stubble across his jaw.
Glasses sit crookedly on his nose and I notice a healthy amount of
scotch tape holds the right earpiece to the lens portion. My eyes are drawn
downward and I see his tee shirt – Halo Reach. Over it is a circa 1984 leather
bomber jacket, worn to its last. Across
his lap he grasps a bright blue Under Armour duffle bag that appears to be completely
empty. What, I wonder, will fill it on
the way home? I continue reading but am
distracted as he gestures to the empty seat next to him. He is patting it and moving his head – the way
I do when I call my dog up onto the couch – but I cannot see whom he is
addressing. No one moves, and I feel a
moment’s embarrassment on his behalf. ‘Perhaps
he’s one of the strange ones,‘ I think, then return to my book. A few stops later he is still trying
desperately to communicate with someone, and finally a girl moves from a spot a
few rows up to sit next to him. I’m
still sort of embarrassed…did he just wear her down? Did she grow tired of the unwanted attention
being drawn to her? She is a beautiful
girl, dusky skin and curves wrapped in jeans and a brilliant red Seattle University
tee. She is reading a paper of some kind
and appears deeply involved in it. The young man is smiling broadly now and
pulls out a cell phone to send a text. ‘Triumph!’
communicated to a friend, I assume. I
read on in my book but glance up as we reach the freeway; my eyes are drawn to
the pair again in mild curiosity. The
man’s arm is now around his companion, and he is lightly brushing her
back. Either he moves very quickly or
they know each other better than it appeared because now her head tilts, then
rests on his shoulder – altogether it’s a surprise ending to this little
vignette.
We near downtown and at the first tunnel stop a man gets
on. He’s very slightly built with a riot
of brown curls that flow down into a full beard – he seems top heavy, as if his
diminutive limbs can’t support that hair, so he might topple over at any minute. As he gets closer to me I notice several
things about him that keep my attention.
He’s very unkempt; dirty, in fact.
He’s wearing denim shorts cut off at the knee, a tee shirt that once
must have been white but now is somewhere on the spectrum between filth and
grime. A dingy green golf sweater rounds
out the ensemble, and he cradles in his hands a simple woven basket (the type
Italian restaurants use to serve a loaf of bread, perhaps). He sits in a seat near me but across the
aisle, facing me at an angle. I can’t
help continuing to study him covertly, wondering as I always do about the story
behind the person. I finally notice that
he is wearing no shoes. No socks either –
he’s barefoot. In the basket that is now
on his lap, still held protectively, is a book whose title I cannot read and,
of all things, a football helmet. I sit
and ponder for a moment; where are his friends and family? Is he living in this way by choice? What circumstances converged to bring him to
the bus this morning, in the cold, with nothing to keep him warm? What significance does the helmet hold? Memories of someone he loved, or is it maybe
a gift for someone else? A
talisman? He gets off at the central
downtown station - quiet, diffident, and alone.
I feel the tears building as I think about it, so I do the only thing I
can in the situation: say a prayer.
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