Walks of Life: The Magic “City” Bus Part II
68 year old Alan entered the bus in immediate, thundering laughter. He’d spent roughly fifteen minutes waiting for his chariot to arrive at the Metro stop, along with a man unaware of his phone-speaking volume. After piggybacking on his conversation, “I want some coffee today!” he would respond, as if he was on the other line, Alan caught my gaze and remarked, “New people every time!” It was true. On the Metro, there’s a bit of chance in that you really never know what kind of walks of life come on. I make conversation (often involuntarily) with people on the bus about seventy percent of my trips, and I have yet to come across a human with the same personality or background.
Alan was one to remember.
I forget how we even arrived at the topic of music, however as soon as I noted that I study at music, Alan’s eyes reshaped, larger than the bus’ wheels. “Now tell me . . . what do you mean when you say you ‘study’ music?” he asks, and I hesitate as I try to evaluate his either positive or negative reaction. After we go back and forth of the subject matter of music, an exchange of personal stories, and his fierce clarification that a harmonica is actually called The Mississippi Saxophone, Alan reaches his stop and we depart. Before he steps off, he calls my name and warmly waves,
“Change music, and be the next shaper.”
In that instant, I didn’t think much of it, rather than Wow, how sweet!, however the night of, it had sunk into my soul that a small three minute bus conversation had just fed me absolute hope for the future. It truly spoke to me that this man not only wanted to reach out to the younger generation, but he needed and was eager to retell his life. He had high hopes for inspiring me, whether or not I would “make it big” or not.
It was this encounter where I felt that I had an obligation to serve my elders and to prove to them that the world could be a much better place a time after them.
93 year old Lucy timidly uttered, “Hello” as I sat beside her at the Fairfax bus stop. She was dressed head to toe in hot pink, holding her clutch bag to her chest for warmth. I had just been severely dumped by my long-term boyfriend, and I thought to myself I most definitely do NOT want to talk today. Lucy read me well, however she still managed to glance over and smile from time to time. We sat facing the sunset, and after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, I finally questioned, “Are you by chance going on the 705? I can’t imagine it ever coming at this point.” And my oh my, did she light up in delight. Reserved Lucy wasn’t reserved at all! She spoke with such speed as we tried to unpack what was the mystery of the 705 bus. Small talk here and there about where we are from, where we were going, and how we got here — and suddenly, she read me again. “I love to thank God. I just love how everything is in His will. You have to praise him for that” she said, and it was as if she was preaching into my broken heart. I was meant to be in this place, in this time, hearing her words. I don’t classify myself as religious necessarily, however Lucy’s crisp words of liberation made my heart feel whole again.
As I’m in college and never had the experience of involved grandparents, the bus had become an opportunity for me to share with the older generation, and for them to share with me.
This cross connection and trade of tales resurfaced so many discussions in my life, particularly at times when I most needed to have them. They prepared me for the day ahead, often stamping a mantra onto my mind that I wouldn’t lose.
These two conversations, although not the only ones I have had, created a lasting impression. Because of them, I never fret to make conversation with a local, and I do not feel afraid to open up about what I am going through.
In unexpected places come the most unexpected people.
The walks of life that meet me here, on the 705 that did arrive, are the ones with wisdom.
