Unplugged (1556)

Monday

            The bus is packed when I get on and flash my pass at the driver. There’s only one empty seat, and it’s next to a kid who looks about ten. I don’t want to sit next to him and bother him, but I’ve been on my feet all day and need a rest. I try to give the kid a half-smile, and then I turn away. I put on my headphones and start playing Led Zeppelin. It’s probably loud enough for other people to hear, judging from the way the kid is looking at me, but at this point, I’m too tired to care. I just finished my first full working day, and I’m realizing the glories of minimum wage. In the next few stops, the bus is filled to capacity, people standing all down the aisle, and then we’re out of the business district and it starts to empty out. I get off before the kid. I don’t know if he was too scared to tell me when his stop was, or if he just lives farther out than I do.

            I missed the bus today. A client gagged when I tried to take x-rays, and I had to stay late to calm her down enough to get the pictures. One of the other ladies here offered me a ride, but I declined. I should have taken it, but I didn’t decide that until she had left and I was walking home. I should have just waited for the next bus, but I didn’t decide that until I was halfway home, and by then the fare wasn’t worth it.

            I hope he’ll sit next to me tomorrow. I’d like to listen to his music again.

Tuesday

            The bus is pulling away from the stop already, and I’m not on it, two days in a row. I burst out the door, waving and hollering at the bus. I chase it the whole two blocks to the next stop, and luckily someone there sees me coming and tells the driver to wait for me. I’ve just made a terrible fool of myself, I’m disheveled, and there’s nowhere to sit, but I’m on the bus, so I’m calling it a victory. I realize, too late, that if I make a point of taking this overcrowded bus home, I may forever be labeled by my actions today. I sneak a look around me. Most people are staring off into space, and those who aren’t are focused completely on the people they know. They couldn’t care less what I did. I turn from embarrassment to hopelessness as my own anonymity sinks in. Nobody even sees me. Wait—I feel someone looking at me. I glance around, trying to find the source. It’s a kid. He gives me a smile. I can’t meet his gaze any longer, and stare out a window for the rest of my trip.

             Today I watched a woman run after the bus for a couple of blocks. I was glad the driver waited for her. I smiled at her when she got on, but she just looked away. I don’t know if my friend noticed her. I think his eyes were closed. I saved the seat for him, and I got to listen to his music again.

            I hope she doesn’t have to chase the bus again tomorrow. I wouldn’t want her to hurt herself, running down the street in those shoes.

Wednesday

            I put my two quarters into the fare collector and take my seat by the window. I give my fifty cents, and I get to ride the bus all day if I wanted. The driver seems nice. He says hi to me when I get on. I go down to the library and hang out for a while. I purposefully miss my stop just so that I can ride around the loop and get off on the other side of the street. Sometimes I do the same thing on my way home, just to spend a little more time on the bus and a little less time crossing the street. I like riding the bus, and I don’t really like crossing the street. My friend is sitting next to me again. No one ever sat next to me before, but I like him. I don’t see the woman today. I think my friend has fallen asleep, so I poke him when we get close to his stop. He looks at me funny, but says thanks. Maybe he wasn’t asleep.

            There were other open seats, but I took the one next to the kid anyway. It felt more comfortable there, and I think the kid was expecting me to sit next to him. He poked me. I mean, I must have passed out, because he woke me up and I had no idea where we were. It took me a minute to realize we were almost at my stop. I thanked him and got off. I guess he really does live farther out than me, since he doesn’t seem afraid of me anymore.

            I hope I don’t miss the bus again tomorrow. I’d really like to ride it home.

Thursday

            I’m sitting next to the kid again. It’s part of my routine now, even though it’s only been a few days. He smiles at me when I get on, and I smile back. He seems fine with not talking, so I put on my headphones and crank up my music. I catch him nodding along to the beat out of the corner of my eye. Maybe I’ll bring my ear buds tomorrow and let him have one so he can hear it better. As we pull up to a stop, I see the woman that chased us a couple days ago come running out of a dentist’s office. She makes it to the bus before we pull away, and she sinks into the first open seat. She’s still wearing her nametag, and I wonder what she does there. I don’t understand people who want to put their hands in other peoples’ mouths for a living. It sounds kind of gross to me. Then again, I clean bathrooms for my pay, but for me, it’s only a summer job. I settle back in my seat for the rest of my ride.

            I made it. I had to hurry through the last cleaning so I could clock out two minutes early, but I finally made it to the bus. My boss gave me a funny look as I ran out the door. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that too many more times without a reprimand, but today I was on that bus, so I was happy. I didn’t even care if anyone recognized me from the other day. It didn’t matter anymore.

            I hope I don’t have to go to the library tomorrow. I’d like to stay home.

Friday

            I’m still working on the last patient of the day when I see the bus leave the stop from inside the office. It doesn’t bother me. I’ve already decided to catch the later bus to avoid the hassle of trying to get out the door by a certain time every day. I clock out and head down the block to the coffee shop to get a cup of tea and wait for the bus.

            I didn’t take the bus today. Mom said I wouldn’t have to go to the library every day anymore, because Dad wasn’t going to live with us anymore. She gave me a big hug when she told me that. It was fun to hang out with Mom all day long. We baked cookies and built a fort in the family room. She said we could do that every afternoon if we wanted to, and I thought that sounded great.

            I hope nothing bad happened to him. I’d help him if I could and if I knew he needed it.

Monday

            I get on the bus at the start of my second week, but I don’t see the kid in his usual seat. I sit next to a stranger and pump up the volume. A woman across the aisle shoots me a dirty look, but it doesn’t matter to me. I close my eyes for the rest of the trip. As I’m leaving, the driver asks me if I know what happened to the kid. I look at him, questioning. How would I know anything about him? The driver explains that since I was the only person who ever sat next to him, he assumed we knew each other. I shake my head and tell him that we never spoke. I don’t even know his name.

            As I walked home, the conversation with the driver kept running through my mind. He assumed I knew something about the kid just because we happened to ride the bus along the same route at the same time each day. We sat next to each other for a few minutes four days in a row. He listened to my music. I considered bringing ear buds to share with him. It struck me how feeble our connection was, how easily broken it was shown to be. I really knew nothing about him.

            I’ll think about him, though. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.