The Boy On The Bus

One day I stepped on the bus to school, a long ride which I enjoyed for it's silence and it's peace. A peace I couldn't find anywhere in my busy life filled with work and routine. A routine I wanted to break free from, a structure I wanted to run from. But I couldn't flee. There were only the wheels and the windows of a driving jail that brought me some calm sense in my mind.
Maybe because of the few people who were on it: an old man, a business lady and a teenager. The old man was always reading his book, something thick and old which I assumed was poetry of some sort. He always wore his glasses and as he reached the middle, he started smiling. The lady never looked at the view outside the windows, never noticed the traffic or the passing green. All she knew was the time. The amount of seconds it took before the bus arrived, the amount of minutes it took to reach the next stop and the amount of hours it took to reach her destination. She knew correctly how many seconds passed during her drive, how many people she let wait whenever she was late and how many deals she had missed with one missed phone call. Her mind was never at ease.
But the boy was something else: he wasn't peaceful but he wasn't rushed either. He was neutral, in balance and somehow he caught my attention.
He never said a word, but he had seen it all. He never showed emotion, but he noticed it all. The smile of the old man, the page and poem he was reading. The words the lady said during one of her calls and the way she was nervously tapping her fingers on her skirt. He new it all by heart, anything that happened had caught his eye. At first I thought it was becausehe was bored or because he was unsure, feeling unsafe. But I soon learned the true meaning behind the boy without a smile.

It was a cold afternoon, rain was falling down against the windows. Tik tok. Tik tok. Tik tok. The sound was refreshing but annoying. Drenched the boy got on, looking for his normal seat as he noticed it was taken by a new passanger: a pregnant lady with a newborn in her arms, sleeping soundly. He sighed softly and looked around. "May I?" He pointed at the seat next to me and I nodded. From all the seats with no passangers and no people, why did he have to pick the one I was sitting in? I studied him for a moment and looked away. The rain kept ticking softly on a certain beat that made me frustrated. But he sighed peacefully, his hands resting on his thighs, eyes closed and head held back. I'd never seen him this peaceful and yet his aura was running wild with something that I could notice, not straigth away. "You know it's impolite to stare right?", he whispered. It was the first time I heard his voice, it trembled and sounded cold and warm at the same time. As if a certain volume made it a melting pleasure for the ears. I quickly faced away, he chuckled. "What's so funny?" He shrugged: "I don't know. The way you looked away all of the sudden was pretty funny." Confussed I looked outside, deciding to not mind him any further. Maybe I was mistaken, he had a strange personna. I turned up the volume of my mp3 player just as he asked my attention. "Why are you listening music, miss?" I looked at him. This time I shrugged. "I don't know, because I can probably." He nodded and sighed once more. "I can't understand people these days honestly." He stared out the window.

The rest of ride he remained quiet, but his eyes had seen anything, his ears had heard anything. He had noticed anything. And so he had the coming days as he every time came to sit next to me, even if his seat was free to use. But it wasn't until Friday evening that week, that I actually spoke him again. "Excuse me, young man?" He looked at me, his gaze fixated on something. "Yes, miss? Can I help you?" "I wonder, why do you always sit next to me during your rides?" He looked confussed, frowned softly. "You never noticed, miss?" His voice was soft and yet harsh at the same time as he spoke. "Noticed what?" He pointed out the window and whispered: "You'll see in a bit, just be patient." I sighed softly and nodded gently. The upcoming seconds passed and soon they turned into minutes which became endless hours. The boy still hadn't made a move nor spoken a word, but he seemed to be looking for something. As if we were coming close to something but instead of showing, he whispered: "Do you know why the old man is always smiling when he reaches the middle of the book?" I frowned. "No, I do not." He nodded and continued: "Do you know why the lady is always focused on work?" I shook my head and the boy sighed softly. He explained in a gentle and polite manner: "That poetry book was given to the old man by his wife. In the middle she wrote him a poem as a gift on his birthday. He always reads the book to remember his time with her and when he reaches the middle, he can see her. Even if he's been a widow for already years.
The lady is focused on the job which she was given by her husband who was CEO of their own company. She handled paper work and made arrangements. Now she's trying to focus as much as she can on her job she was given by her one, so she doesn't think of the pain she feels whenever she realises he isn't there to welcome her anymore when she gets back home."
I was overcome with silence and noticed the two other passangers. The old man who's eyes were filled with tears even if he smiled. The lady who kept answering phone calls with her wedding ring around her finger. I looked down, a bit ashamed and stared at the boy. "You still haven't answered my question." He nodded: "Yes I have." He pointed out the window. As the bus drove by on high speed, I could still see the old cemetery on the left. The boy whispered: "Over here I can see my family better."