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Scenes from a Bus
Jun. 13th, 2006 08:48 amI missed my usual morning pattern yesterday so it was rather pleasing this morning to be on time and on routine. The marine layer was just breaking over Berkeley and shafts of sunlight streamed down through gray cloud illuminating patches of earth here and there. It was only after I sat down on the bench at my bus stop that I remembered I'd left sunglasses at home. I'll regret that later today but this morning they weren't really needed. I sat there watching the familiar patterns around me. I'm entering my 4th month at the new place and it feels as if I were always here.
Mr. Lee wheels back the iron gate to his store front just past 7am. Familiar cars whiz by me on their race to get to work. I watch for the bus and look to see the Berkeley Police paddy wagon go by. The elderly hispanic man rattles by pushing his shopping cart filled with his worldy possessions. He has a shepherd mix dog that is leashed to the cart. On the front is a cardboard sign that says "VIVA BUSH" and there is a stick with a small American flag stuck to it that sticks up in one corner of the cart. I don't know if it is a heart-felt sentiment or sarcasm. My bus arrives and the driver and I chat about kids, about Alaska, about bears. The stylish woman with the Sophia Loren sunglasses gets on and sits quietly as she always does. Three young children get on; two brothers and a sister. They're very quiet and very polite compared to most of the school kids who clamber on board.
At my connecting bus stop I watch as the Indian woman strolls by again; she's very bow-legged and I wonder once again why she is that way. I'm pretty sure its not from horseback riding. The 12 stops and lets off a single passenger at my stop. This woman gets off the bus each morning. She wears a long, shiny, wine colored trench coat. She knots a square silk scarf under her chin and she's wheeling a small red suitcase behind her. I wonder if she's a home-care nurse coming back from an overnight stay? She crosses the street to take the bus I take, but in the opposite direction.
I get on my bus and see that another set of two brothers and a sister are there. They're heads are down as the littlest brother shuffles through a deck of Pokeman cards. The boys get off the bus together on Broadway and catch a connecting bus to their elementary school. Their sister stays on until my stop and then she walks nearly a mile down to the middle school on Harrison Street.
Every once in while, like today, I'll see Laurie and her black lab, seeing-eye dog at the BART station. Last Friday I saw Gary, the blind guy who never meets a stranger. Both are reminders of other patterns, other mornings. Reminders that things change and things stay the same.
Mr. Lee wheels back the iron gate to his store front just past 7am. Familiar cars whiz by me on their race to get to work. I watch for the bus and look to see the Berkeley Police paddy wagon go by. The elderly hispanic man rattles by pushing his shopping cart filled with his worldy possessions. He has a shepherd mix dog that is leashed to the cart. On the front is a cardboard sign that says "VIVA BUSH" and there is a stick with a small American flag stuck to it that sticks up in one corner of the cart. I don't know if it is a heart-felt sentiment or sarcasm. My bus arrives and the driver and I chat about kids, about Alaska, about bears. The stylish woman with the Sophia Loren sunglasses gets on and sits quietly as she always does. Three young children get on; two brothers and a sister. They're very quiet and very polite compared to most of the school kids who clamber on board.
At my connecting bus stop I watch as the Indian woman strolls by again; she's very bow-legged and I wonder once again why she is that way. I'm pretty sure its not from horseback riding. The 12 stops and lets off a single passenger at my stop. This woman gets off the bus each morning. She wears a long, shiny, wine colored trench coat. She knots a square silk scarf under her chin and she's wheeling a small red suitcase behind her. I wonder if she's a home-care nurse coming back from an overnight stay? She crosses the street to take the bus I take, but in the opposite direction.
I get on my bus and see that another set of two brothers and a sister are there. They're heads are down as the littlest brother shuffles through a deck of Pokeman cards. The boys get off the bus together on Broadway and catch a connecting bus to their elementary school. Their sister stays on until my stop and then she walks nearly a mile down to the middle school on Harrison Street.
Every once in while, like today, I'll see Laurie and her black lab, seeing-eye dog at the BART station. Last Friday I saw Gary, the blind guy who never meets a stranger. Both are reminders of other patterns, other mornings. Reminders that things change and things stay the same.
