Tales of an Unknown

Bus Rides

Bus rides can be the worst part of someone's day or the best. For some, it means the strain of sitting with strangers on dingy public transportation. For others, it means a day without aching feet and more hours to slave away like a workhorse. To some, bus rides are an inconvenience, yet they are a necessity for many more. It's an opportunity to meet new people, travel to a new part of the city, and to experience a new walk of life.

I myself am one of those for whom public transportation is imperative. I don't own a car or even bike of my own, and my destination is too far to walk. Unlike most others around, I enjoy bus rides. Even though the green seats are sometimes rickety or there are few to spare, and the company is decent at best, it's an everyday constant in my life.

Some of the others on the bus are regulars like me; Alice is my personal favorite. She's a little lady, always bringing her purple knitting needles and varying yarn with her to pass the time. Her stories ring with truths from her own life, but she has a few crazy, unbelievable ones up her woolen sleeve as well. She can also charm the pants off of anyone, and I've seen many men become smitten with her attractive personality and thirst for life. We talk whenever we cross paths, specifically every Tuesday morning and Friday afternoon.

Today is no different, although I don't get to see Alice today, or Tom, my favorite bus driver. Instead, I climb aboard the bus which just arrived, driven by an unfamiliar man. I pay my fare and bid him a good morning, heading towards the perfect seat, which I spot about halfway back. After plopping down, I let out a sigh and look out of the slightly dirtied window, craning my neck to look past the bus stop at the city garden.

The rosy hues stand out first, the firetruck reds and sunset oranges. They demand attention and do not accept no for an answer. Powerful, greedy, and hungry, these beautiful flowers are cruel in their pursuit of one's eye. Once the most powerful have given permission to move on, the eye can explore the mysterious purples, pure whites, and deep water blues. These shades are deserving of notice, but have patience and wait until they are ready to expose themselves to the world around them. Last come colors subtler in pigmentation, those not wanting to make a scene, those willing to go amiss. They are the baby pinks and blues, the soft lilac, and gentle yellows like small suns.

My eyes stray from the colorful garden as the bus wheels start rolling, carrying its passengers toward their next destination. I lean back into the seat because of morning grogginess and allow myself to observe the world around me. The bus moves with hesitation as it merges into the busy street and clanks along the uneven road, hitting potholes and speed bumps alike. Most riders pay no attention to our bumpy ride, but some close their eyes, likely from motion sickness.

I lurch forward in my seat as we stop suddenly just as the traffic light turns red. Surrounding our looming bus are cars of varying size and shape, carrying people with just as much diversity. I can see cars associated with affluence as well as vehicles displaying a lack of wealth. All around, there are men and women, whites and blacks, and everyone in between. But most importantly, all I see are people. People without labels assigned by society. I see a person, and another, and another, all deserving of the same respect and courtesy as the next.

A bus ride is one of the few things in our world where one can just sit and observe, or think, or write or read, or do almost anything. Bus rides are times when everyone is the same, just a passenger traveling from one place to another without the hustle and bustle of the outside world.

With these thoughts in mind, I stand as the bus pulls up to my stop. A few others follow my movements, and together, we all step off the bus one by one. They walk on to their next destination, but I wait. I wait for the bus to leave, to continue its never-ending journey on its route, always traveling, stopping, dropping, and repeating.

Once the bus pulls away once more, I begin my short journey home, using my cane to help me down the steps. The sun is still high in the sky and it warms my wrinkled cheeks as I walk along the new sidewalks, already eager for the bus ride tomorrow will bring.