So I no longer ride the bus to work, but today I headed downtown for a hair appointment. I boarded the bus to Seattle ahead of a man who smelled so strongly of marijuana, I might still be high. It's Washington, and it's legal, but sheesh! My hair did, I watched the Hawks beat another of the Manning brothers from a restaurant at Pacific Place, then I headed home.
I board, as usual, at Westlake Station - sort of the hub of Downtown. Sure, there's the International District, to the far south, but the truth is, you can pretty much tell who will enter and exit the bus at the ID. Next there's Pioneer Square - only the drug addicts and tourists venture there. University? Nobody, unless they're headed to the museum. Westlake drops you off in the center of the shopping and food areas, front and center of Pike Place, and directly at the Monorail, if you're headed to Seattle Center and the Space Needle. Also, Nordstrom is there, so I'm familiar with the territory. I hit the tunnel with a few minutes to spare, fretting slightly about my new hairdo. My stylist is amazing but overly fond of parting my hair in the center, and a little guilty of using too much goo. The bus arrives and I board listening to Elvis Costello. It's gonna be a good ride.
I claim my favorite seat and pull out the Kindle. I notice a man taking some time boarding but my noise-canceling headphones do not let me hear the conversation with the driver. I glance his way and notice he's probably in his forties, dressed casually but clean, and I don't think further about it until I notice a young man jump up and pull out his wallet. He cuts between the man boarding and the driver and inserts two one dollar bills and a quarter - he's just paid the older man's fare. He turns, sits, and flashes the older man a thumbs up. I smile and wonder what drama I missed because of my headphones.
We head to University next, and several people board. Among them is a wizened old woman - if I had to guess I would say she's in her eighties and Vietnamese. Next to her sits a very young woman and I'm overcome with surreality - the young woman looks exactly like the older woman minus the wrinkles (or vice versa). Their noses are exactly the same, their lips, their eyes. It's like the older woman is just a shrunken, desiccated version of the young one. Her white knit hat sits like a whipped cream flourish atop her grey head. The younger woman ignores the old woman as she chatters through the ride, but carefully helps her as they disembark at the International District.
It's Game Day in Seattle and a couple dozen more people board at the ID, close to the Seahawks stadium. Several wear gear proclaiming they went to the game, and they jostle each other cheerfully for seats. An older man sits kitty corner from me - he's Japanese and indeterminately old. He leans out from his seat to talk to a woman sitting across from me - they're both season ticket holders and apparently see each other frequently. The bus is suddenly ablaze with energy - we won, 38-17! Four, (count 'em) FOUR touchdowns by Beast Mode Marshawn Lynch! It's really exciting to be a part of an organism like Seattle, where everyone, and I mean everyone, cares about the home teams.
As we hit the freeway on the way home, I take a closer look at the Seahawk fan kitty corner from me. He's very old, I think. He leans on a cane as he sits. His Seahawks hat is tagged with a looped pink ribbon, attached carelessly with a safety pin. I wonder, who is that for? Did he lose a wife (he has no ring), or a sister, or a daughter? Or is it a relic from last month's frenzy of pink nonsense for Breast Cancer Awareness? I'll never know.
We arrive at the first stop before the park & ride that is the destination of most of the people on the bus, including me. The young man who paid the fare of the other passenger disembarks. The recipient of his generosity has been sleeping for the last 30 minutes of the ride, but he perks up as we hit this stop. As the younger man passes his window, he knocks twice on his window and flashes a peace sign. The universe is in balance.
