Riding
On a Bus With Old People
The driver instructed me to place
four quarters in the machine. She smiled
back, and without saying a word nodded for me to take a seat. I looked down
range into the mob of gray hairs, with ginormous dark glasses and was
immediately terrified that my youth would suddenly be taken from me. I’d never
even known my grandmother, or grandfather. My parents had no siblings, so there
was never a cool uncle or ravishing aunt to teach me about the dangers in life.
Apparently the gray haired crowd gets up with the rest of us. You know, us
folks who go to our jobs, that pay dirt, all of us fully committed to losing our
energy for an entire week, so we can’t have any fun with the significant
hopefuls we want to latch up on at the end of that interminable week. Someday I
have to buy a rust bucket.
“You can sit here sweetie.”
Does
she really think I’ll sit on her lap? “That’s all right I’m
aiming for the middle seat.”
Ah, there she is, torn padding,
rusted and lose backrest, right over the rear wheels so I can feel every bump.
I take the only seat left.
“What’s your name?” I’m Doris.” Going
to work?
“Ah yeah, going to my wonderful job.
No car”
“That’s Jean-Anne over there, and
Felicity in front of you. We ride to the mall every Thursday morning to walk.”
I only nod. Felicity turns a little and asks about my
wonderful job. “Are you a carpenter? That sounds wonderful”
“No.”
“No what?
“I’m not a carpenter.”
Oh, I thought I heard you say
carpenter. My husband was an electrician.”
I nod. “I wash dishes at a café.”
Doris askes Jean-Anne a question, I
think. They both turn and look at me. Okay, I’m self-conscious. I think
something is wrong with my clothes, or shoes, or hair. Doris asks Felicity,
“What does he do?”
“He owns a café on Washburn street.”
“Washburn, his name is Washburn.?
“No, he owns a café on Washburn.”
“Oh, he washes clothes at the
Washburn hotel.”
The three of them continue to talk. I
try to ignore them, but they occasionally turn and smile at me. I just nod a
little.
“Doris, did you say the seal was
broken on his washing machine?”
“He’s a Navy seal. Oh my gosh. A real
live hero on our bus.”
That I heard. And I looked at my
toothpick frame. Definitely not a Navy Seal. The bus bounces down the pothole
zone of route twenty-one. The engine seems to be getting louder. The ladies
continue to chat, and look at me, and chat. I
think they’re fantasizing.
“Kroger street, two more blocks,” the
driver announces.
“Cougar, where’s a Cougar? asks
Doris.
“Oh I’m afraid my cougar days have
passed,” says Felicity.
“Jean-Anne, you still have some
cougar in you. Don’t you?”
They all laugh. Then Jean-Anne looks
at me. She waves when our eyes meet. They’re all batty!
The bus stops, two young girls from
the back get off, and two elderly gentleman get on. They go the back, then one
asks to switch seats with me. I get up and move back one row. The gentleman’s
name is Tom; Felicity calls for him. He waves back. Then he fidgets with a
hearing aid in his right ear.
Watch Arrival Right Now
“Tom, where you off to today?”
“To get fudge for the grandkids.”
Doris tells the others, “He’s fudged
up, he’s going to the doctor.”
They all cover their mouths. Such
revelations! Tom attempts to correct.
“No, I’m not going to the doctor. I’m
going to the candy store to buy fudge for the kids.”
“Oh, he’s taking his son who owns the
candy store to the doctor.”
“Doctor, who’s a doctor? The young
man. I thought so. He didn’t look like a Navy Seal.”
Okay. Now I’m smiling a little. I’m
being admired, and elevated in life from dishwasher to Navy Seal to Doctor.
What’s next CEO of What-A-Burger?
“After the candy store, I’m going to
Robbins to get some cloth for Claudia, she’s not feeling well, couldn’t make
the trip today”
All at once, all three. “Tom, no
don’t do it. I implore you don’t resort to this. We’ll help you. Whatever money
you need. But don’t rob the candy store.”
Tom turns and says to me, “Thank God
I only need to put up with this one day each week.” He laughs. The ladies
continue.
“Tom, can’t your son the Doctor help?
Please we beg you, don’t do it. Think of the children. The sad faces. You’ll
scare them. Then Doris stands and out loud proclaims, “Tom, don’t rob the
Baskin-Robbins.” She stands on one crutch, while holding the seat-back bar.
“I’ll stop you I will.”
I lean forward. “Do they have hearing
aids?”
“They do. But they won’t wear em’. Stubborn!
Still clinging to their youth,” Tom responds.
My stops coming up. On my way to the
front, Felicity pats my butt, and Jean-Anne seconds her. Groped on a bus. Don’t
think I’ll share. While I walk the two
blocks to work. I start to smile again. I can’t help it. It was funny. Maybe
I’ll forget about the rust bucket. Nothing but a pain in the ass with
insurance, registration, and changing my own oil.
© Copyright 2017 Artemis J Jones