A bus ride for me is more than transportation. It is a social adventure. For me, it has become a world populated by many people that I fall a little bit in love with every time I ride the bus.
I suppose I look around a lot, see who is on the bus, notice their presence, invite their furtive glance. I watch all the men get on at the stop by the shelter, men rumpled and roughed up by life. They are the ones I have conversations with the most. Usually brief exchanges but we acknowledge one another without embarrassment. They ask me questions.
I sometimes watch everyone who gets on, try to understand a little about who they are just by looking. Funny how each one carries their own presence a little unhidden. I secretly open up to and absorb that presence. Sometimes they know.
I sit next to the woman who has had a severe face in a book on past days, and we soon have an animated discussion about the MIA and the Walker. I meet neighbors on the bus, stand next to them at the bus stop and we verbally usher one another into our unknown days, a little better for the experience.
I like my bus. It is a world I like stepping into. Not a foreign world, but one that is becoming more familiar and hospitable. I am choosing to claim it as part of my world.