Another couple of bus stories

I’ve been taking the bus to work for nine months now. Do anything for nine months and certain aspects of it will become familiar to you, like the young girl with the instrument case that waits for the bus at the stop just before 33rd: she always looks a bit lost and innocent. Or the woman my age (or maybe, sigh, a little younger) that rarely sits and, even when there is a seat available, always offers it to the person standing next to her. I wrote in my last blog about the woman that always covers her hair when it’s raining or windy outside. I think too that I’ve mentioned how strange it is to see the same people every day and the potential for interaction and camaraderie and kindliness is so great, and yet two minutes after the bus lurches into action we’ve all popped our headphones on and have slipped on our oversized sunglasses so that we don’t have to be coerced or cajoled into conversation with anyone, and we have that extra layer of insulation covering the proverbial gateways to our souls. I’m guilty of it as well. Being more friendly and engaging with fellow transit riders is on my to-do list: I’ve already won my bus driver over.
Dancing on the outskirts of intimacy and being part of these people’s early morning routines have allowed me a privileged glance into their lives. I see these people after they have left their apartments, their husbands and wives, their lovers and children and before they are enveloped in a tower with their coworkers, bosses and underlings. I see what they read, I get whiffs of the music they listen to, I notice the stain on their pants, their expensive perfume, their red-rimmed eyes. So today I shall share with you two stories, one happy and one sad. They all have unfolded on the fortuitous trip down Arbutus between 8 and 8:30am, Monday to Friday. Who needs cable?
Couple #1
I normally try to catch the bus as far south on Arbutus as I can in order to get a seat. Sometimes when I’m running late I catch it at one of the closer (and more popular) spots. This is where I came across the Asian couple. I would say they are in their early forties. They are both very pleasant and friendly looking people and of late have taken to smiling and nodding when I join them. She is very petite and cute. Sometimes she wears a beret and she has a smiling face. Her husband is tall and always well (though not expensively) dressed. He looks quite serene and together they struck me as a very intimate and contented couple. They would always try to sit next to one another on the bus, and they get off at the same stop downtown. I took to bypassing the double seats on the bus in the hopes that they would be able to sit together on the ride in. It was more than a little endearing to see this forty something couple shuffle seats to be close to one another when other passengers got off the bus.
But in the past month something has happened. They wait for the bus together, but there it ends. They no longer sit together. She listens to her MP3 player and when a seat comes free next to either of them, they do not gravitate towards one another. I can’t remember if he ever wore a wedding ring, but he isn’t wearing one now. It’s sad. I don’t know anything about them, but there is something heartbreaking in the way he sits, with perfect posture, on the bus, sans book, sans iPod, hands folded neatly in his lap with an expression that is meant to exude calmness, but only succeeds at a shoddy façade of inner contentedness. And still, they get off at the same stop, but whoever gets off first does not wait for the other. Once, a couple of weeks ago I did see them walking side by side. Perhaps this was before things became utterly irreconcilable, and though she never saw it, I could sense him wanting to place his hand on the gentle of her back as they walked down Seymour together. It was palpable and it made me sad.
Couple #2
This is probably a weekly occurrence, but because I never know whether I’m coming or going I can’t tell you which day it is. Nonetheless, on a regular basis there is a mentally challenged guy that rides the bus. He’s always happy, thanks the driver when he gets off and seems to have more social skills than most people (myself included). Less regularly a mentally handicapped woman gets on. The first few times she gave no indication that she knew the man. She too is very polite, engages in conversation with those around her, wishes them a good day (and uses their name) when she gets off the bus. I can tell, though, that she is a bit nervous about taking transit. She seems to get a little bit antsy when her stop comes up, as though she fears she might miss it. Last week she called something out to the mentally handicapped man, but I failed to catch the interaction. This week I caught it. Though he was sitting at the back of the bus, and though I don’t think that either had acknowledged the other’s presence, as we pulled near her stop she said, “Okay A-, can you-?” and he didn’t even need her to finish. He said, “Yes! There you go. Have a good day,” and pulled the chord for her. It was such a tender and considerate act, and it caught me quite off guard.
The point of all this? No point really. It’s just the veritable human drama that unfolds on a daily basis in front of me. It’s the subtle nuances that, if prodded, expose cracks and chasms between us. It’s the oft unseen and unnoticed niceties that make this world the most beautiful place to be.