Thursday, September 01, 2005

parting shots. My mother is convinced that I should write a book about my experiences on public transit. She loves the anecdotes I've collected over the years, and thinks they'd make a very publishable item. Now, I think it's been done before. I'm sure it has. I can't believe all the starving writers in the world -- writers who take the bus daily -- wouldn't have picked up that particular ball and run with it. I do like some of my tales enough to blog them. But a book? Gosh. We'll see. There are so many more books I'd want to pen before that one, although they all could be a complete wash. Maybe the world just wants to know what they're missing on my bus... *** There is a woman who waits at the same bus stop I do every day and always catches the same bus. This is pretty amazing, given that I show up to catch the bus within a fifteen minute window, and there are three or four coaches in there that I could take. Still, she manages to choose the same one every single day. She is notable for three reasons: a) like Mama from earlier this week, she does not smile; b) she always runs to be first onto the bus, although no one ever tries to get on ahead of her; and c) she wears black stockings -- boot black, crow black, coal black -- and white sandals, rain or shine. This is an intriguing look. I think she knows it. Not so much that it's tongue-in-cheek or ironic, but definitely intentional. Yesterday, she was carrying a picture or painting in a tattered orange garbage bag. It was large; she seemed to have some trouble hoisting it off the ground, and I wasn't sure why she was lugging the thing anyhow. Possibly it was something for work. When we all got on the bus -- she was a seat or two down from me -- she leaned the picture against her legs on the floor, and went looking for something in her purse. As soon as the bus started to move, BAM! -- the picture smacked flat on the floor. The sound of breaking glass was unmistakable, and everyone cringed. She looked a little startled, but I couldn't tell how upset she was, since she wasn't really given to a ton of facial expression. The two women riding the seat opposite her -- two ladies who usually spend the ride gossiping loudly about their coworkers and making fun of people on the bus -- immediately went to help her right the frame, expressing sympathy at the breakage. The woman didn't say much, but in a few moments, all seemed to be okay, and we disappeared once more into our little personal bus worlds. And seconds later, it happened again. Good grief -- why wasn't she hanging onto the silly thing? The ladies helped her pick it up again, and then proceeded to engage in awkward chit chat for the balance of the ride. I could tell they felt badly for her, because they would normally just ignore her, or make snickering fun of her stockings. They got off about two stops ahead of her (and she usually got off two ahead of me), and she watched them depart with a wave and a -- what the heck? -- smile. They said, "We'll see you tomorrow...", and suddenly, friendships were born. Wow. It was kind of heartwarming -- community in the midst of crisis. She caught my eye right at that second, and I too expressed sympathy. She nodded thoughtfully and thankfully at me, so I decided to venture a question. "Where were you planning to take that today? To put up in your office?" "No, no...I was taking it to get the glass replaced." Now, this took me a bit off-guard. Was that wit I was hearing? Then, with a bit more thought, and a bit more study of her face, I realized she was quite serious. "Why?" "Oh, it's been broken for years." "It has? But I heard it break today!" "Oh, that was just shards coming loose from the crack. No biggie." Now, why didn't she tell the sympathetic women that? And then I realized why, just as she got off the bus and turned to say something to me. "But that will be our little secret, right?" And then she winked and got off the bus. *** The man sitting in the seat in front of me was a handsome one, laden down with laptop, briefcase, and two wrapped packages. He was examining one of them rather closely, but I couldn't really tell why. A young Japanese girl, maybe university-age, got on next to him, and they rode in silence for a while before he spoke. "Excuse me, do you know what this says?" He was pointing to a sticker on one of the packages that had a small cartoon thing (that looked like a mole) with a word bubble coming out of its mouth. Inside the bubble was a Japanese character. She took a look, and smiled. "It says 'love'." She spoke haltingly, but seemed certain about that word, of course. He looked relieved. "Oh, good. I don't know why they stuck that on there, but my girlfriend is half-Japanese, so I didn't want it to say something awful." "Oh, no...it says love. She will like that." "Actually, " he said, as though thinking out loud, "I haven't told her I love her yet." "No?" The girl seemed surprised by this. "But she is your girlfriend?" "Yeah, I guess I just haven't gotten around to that." "Do you love her?" "Oh, for sure. I guess I should say something." As he said this, she went to get off the bus, but turned to say one last thing. "Yes, or she will give you a package with sticker of a little man that says, 'My boyfriend suck.'" Then she stepped off the coach. I admit it, I laughed out loud. He just looked surprised. Then the woman across the row from him leaned over to speak. "If she does do that, can you bring it on the bus? I would like to copy that character down and get a t-shirt made for my boyfriend." *** 7:05:32 AM    build me up, buttercup... []

© Copyright 2005 Meg Fowler. Last update: 9/14/2005; 7:07:29 AM.