Sunday, September 7, 2014

Saturday, 1:10am

I sat in my seat, breathing and moving as little as possible. Hoping to God that no one could see my face smattered in tears, I wiped at my face with the bottom of my coat sleeve. Only one week into school and here I was, sobbing hysterically on a late night bus. There were exactly three people on the bus— me, the bus driver, and a fairly young, fully bearded homeless man resembling a hippie.

I listened as the hippie-resembling homeless guy relayed his grievances of the system to the bus driver, who in turn nodded in sympathy.

“Where you getting off, miss?”

Suddenly realizing that I was the “miss” he was addressing, I immediately straightened my posture and looked up.

“Excuse me?”
“What stop do you want to get off at?”
“Oh! Sanford, please.”

The bus driver slammed on his brakes and stopped at the curb.

“Oh whoops! Sorry, I forgot you were supposed to get off here. Got distracted. I was asking this young lady here a question—”

The bus reached a halt and the doors swung open.

“It’s alright,” said the hippie homeless guy. “Pretty ladies tend to have that effect on people.” He got up, gave me a nod, and said, “You have a good night miss,” before heading to the exit. I took it as an act of kindness and smiled at him.
“Thanks, you too,” I answered. And with that, he hopped off the bus.

The doors closed and the bus continued on. The rest of the bus ride went on in silence, with the exception of occasional remarks made by the bus driver and me giving the customary nods and uh-huhs, yeahs, and definitelys.

I gazed out the windows as we crossed the 10th Avenue bridge. The city skyline passed by on my left, the Mississippi River on my right. My eyes grew wide and my heart less heavy. The sight of the scenery sunk in and all of a sudden things didn’t seem so bad. In a way, I began to appreciate the circumstances that led me to this bus ride. 

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