Token

The Token

The familiar white bus pulled up to the expected curb. The day was rainy, cold, and gloomy; of course the bus was running later than usual and, naturally, too many people were already waiting inside the building for it to be comfortable. The man on the corner in the rain could only check his watch one more time in frustration (making sure that the driver could SEE him look pointedly at his watch) and the doors to the vehicle opened.

Before the man could properly board, the doors to the building flung open and the several people who had been waiting in the comfort of indoors piled out and toward the bus. They were ready to run one another down to get to their seats and, of course, didn't much care that they were trampling an old man in the process. He could hear the driver trying to restore order but rain and gloom outside and a desire to be to the riders' next destination had made them deaf to his chiding.

Finally, there was a break in the action and the man could board. Without a single word to the driver about where he was going, the man dropped a token in the deposit box and made his way onto the bus. After a brief scan, the man found a seat right in the middle that seemed to have been assigned to him recently. The rider could remember a time when he would have been relegated to the very back of the bus and the middle didn't sound all that bad.

The man stumbled toward his middle seat while no one in the front seats seemed to notice his struggles; if they noticed him at all. He passed about the third row of seats before he heard the first "Hi, Mr. Foster." A few other people heard such a pleasantry and mumbled pretty much the same as if they really gave a care in the world about him. The last "Hi, Mr. Foster" was shortened to "Howdy, Jimmy." Jimmy. He had lived eighty years for some fresh teenager to call him "Jimmy" now.

James Foster didn't have a single word for anyone sharing faux pleasantries and sat in the seat that always seemed to be available to him. He no sooner sat down than he felt the first kick in the back of his seat and heard the first high-pitched giggle.

He turned his head and, sure enough, a dark skinned woman sat behind him with her obligatory three young kids and five bags of groceries to occupy two seats. One such grocery was a twelve-pack of beer, of which she was already drinking a can, despite the warning that the driver had most likely already given her about the offense. Foster waited for an apology that the unruly child had just kicked his chair but it wasn't coming. The mother had her own problems with three children and couldn't quite see beyond that. Foster could almost appreciate that and faced forward in his seat once more even as he was kicked in the back of his seat again to prove that the young child could. The mother finally chose to address that and mumbled something about forgetting her kids and remembering the groceries next time. If Foster had thought she was kidding, he might have smiled at the joke.

Foster sat forward once again as conversations and actions washed over him. Several youngsters had their Ipods on too loud and the distinct music was running together. Two girls were sitting side-by-side and both were texting, giggling, and showing one another the wit of the conversations (were they texting each other, from the comfort of sitting side-by-side on a bus, or was there really someone else involved in these conversations?) A businessman in a power suit was on his own phone, striking up a major deal and making certain that anyone on board that bus who cared could hear just important of a businessman he was. If he were so important, James wondered what he was doing taking the bus? Two teenaged buddies were hunkered down in the seat right in front of James's and were speaking loudly in such terms about women that some high profile politicians had recently boasted only ever relegating such conversations to a boys' locker room. Was there really a point to them squatting down to be almost invisible, then begin shouting to possibly be heard outside the bus? Across the aisle from the graphic and boisterous talk, a young woman could have very much taken issue with their words. However, she was dealing with her own male seatmate. Was this to do with an unrequited crush; or a boyfriend looking to get back in good with his girlfriend?

In the front row of the bus, a man in a business suit was rustling his newspaper as loudly as possible and muttering obscenities in case it should change the headlines. Across the aisle from him, a college-aged couple was sleeping on one another's shoulders (their excuse for having not offered the seat to Mr. Foster. What they had been doing in the front of the bus in the first place, based on etiquette, no one knew).

The bus finally stopped at its first stop and popped the door. The young mother and all of her children filed off the bus in much the same volume that they had displayed since Mr. James Foster had boarded. In fact, the mother started by accidentally hitting him in the head with one of her oversized grocery bags and each of her kids in turn either punched him in the arm or kicked him in the heel to prove that they could for all that their mother cared how they treated anyone else.

"Nice day." Foster muttered the traditional dismissal to the family as they filed into an apartment unit. Meanwhile, the couple in the front row finally woke up and filed off the bus as well with some pleasantries from the driver.

With that, the public transit vehicle was on its way. Suddenly, the residents of the very back row announced themselves with very loud local gossip. The man with the newspaper shot them a glare of death. Mr. Foster silently rooted for the sole occupant of the first row.

He only had to listen to the backseat gossip and watch the reactions from the front seat for about ten minutes until the next stop. Foster was home.

He got out of his seat without a word for anyone and no one shared a word with him. He liked that just fine as he sauntered toward the head of the vehicle and prepared to step off. However, the doors wouldn't close behind him without his hearing one final word from the driver:

"Have a good night, Mr. Foster. Go on up there and take care of Vivian. We hope to see her again one day."

Foster turned to face the driver's congenial, sincere smile as the doors closed in the older man's face and the bus was on its way. The driver would never know it but those words brought on the first smile of Mr. Foster's day as well.

"Thank you, Scott." He said to the long departed bus driver as a lump welled up in his throat beneath his sincere smile. With that, Mr. Foster went upstairs to tend to his wife and current homecare patient...