I went into work late today, and didn't wind up catching my bus home until 6:15 or so. The bus was nearly empty at my stop. There was only myself, the two MassArt students who got on with me, and an old black man who seemed tired and had a deeply satisfying growl of a voice.
By the third stop the bus was nearly full.
I was sitting in the back where the seats face each other, listening to Philip Glass. A girl sat down across from me. She had pale skin, extremely dark hair-- as black as is ever natural-- and a knit scarf of muted color. She had her phone to her ear. After about three blocks I noticed that she looked distressed. After five blocks, her eyes were glistening. At six blocks she started gently shedding her tears. Eavesdropper that I am, I took out my earphones to try and listen to her half of the conversation, but she was speaking in a language I couldn't positively identify over the roar of the bus-- only that it wasn't English.
She never sobbed. She just quietly leaked her tears, and spoke in distressed tones to the unknown ear on the other end of the line. About 2/3rds of the way through my commute she hung up. I wanted so badly to connect with her. I offered her the silk surgical drape I had taken from work to use as a handkerchief without a word. She took it and thanked me in perfect English. She dabbed her eyes and forehead and handed it back to me. I tried to hold her gaze, but she looked away and wouldn't look back. Did she look slightly less distressed? Maybe. She was still right on edge, and deep in thought. As my stop approached I collected my things and stood up. Just as the bus rolled to a halt I reached down and took her hand which she offered with no resistance. She even smiled slightly. On the back of her hand I drew an uneven heart in sharpie, and held her gaze for a moment. We shared a smile. A moment. Neither of us said anything. I let go of her hand and left.
It was the most human I have felt in a very, very long time.
On the short walk home I gave myself a matching, and similarly uneven marking.
By the third stop the bus was nearly full.
I was sitting in the back where the seats face each other, listening to Philip Glass. A girl sat down across from me. She had pale skin, extremely dark hair-- as black as is ever natural-- and a knit scarf of muted color. She had her phone to her ear. After about three blocks I noticed that she looked distressed. After five blocks, her eyes were glistening. At six blocks she started gently shedding her tears. Eavesdropper that I am, I took out my earphones to try and listen to her half of the conversation, but she was speaking in a language I couldn't positively identify over the roar of the bus-- only that it wasn't English.
She never sobbed. She just quietly leaked her tears, and spoke in distressed tones to the unknown ear on the other end of the line. About 2/3rds of the way through my commute she hung up. I wanted so badly to connect with her. I offered her the silk surgical drape I had taken from work to use as a handkerchief without a word. She took it and thanked me in perfect English. She dabbed her eyes and forehead and handed it back to me. I tried to hold her gaze, but she looked away and wouldn't look back. Did she look slightly less distressed? Maybe. She was still right on edge, and deep in thought. As my stop approached I collected my things and stood up. Just as the bus rolled to a halt I reached down and took her hand which she offered with no resistance. She even smiled slightly. On the back of her hand I drew an uneven heart in sharpie, and held her gaze for a moment. We shared a smile. A moment. Neither of us said anything. I let go of her hand and left.
It was the most human I have felt in a very, very long time.
On the short walk home I gave myself a matching, and similarly uneven marking.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
foxydaisy:
Hey skinny boy. Are you still alive? Are you a doctor yet? <3
sighclops:
You are so full of life. Thank you for sharing that.