The woman from Bangladesh
Tales from the bus
The bus was running late and the woman from Bangladesh sitting next to me at the stop asked me for the time.
With the ice broken we started making polite conversation. As the bus got later and later, our stories became more personal and seasoned with the wild abandon conversing with a stranger you’ll never see again brings. She spoke of her childhood in India on her family’s mango farm as we shared the sun ripened black berries I’d just picked. We laughed about produce, which feels less funny when you type it out.

When the bus pulled up, we did the usual polite goodbyes, but sat next to each other anyway after awkwardly acknowledging we were enjoying each other’s company. The bus wound through Issaquah towards Bellevue as the conversation turned towards the struggles of looking for work with rent being what it is.
We talked of family expectations and the magic discovering something unexpected imparts to enhance the experience of a thing. A person could almost sustain themselves exclusively on the freedom in her laugh; the way it nourished the soul. A laugh so beautiful I almost missed my stop.