City Bus

I love riding the city bus. All the sights, smells and germs. More than anything, the stories. Everyone on the bus has a different story. I love to listen to the things they reveal about themselves. Last week I met a woman named Lynn who lives at first Christian towers with her husband Paul. She had gone to the farmers market. To get fresh veggies. She told me that her neighbors are two widowed women who don't go out much. She reaches in to her small napsack. The look on her face is something of beauty. Like a small child reaching into a treasure chest ready to pull out a prize. Out of Lynn's bag comes an egg plant. Because I am not an eggplant connoisseur, I didn't really know what to say. But as I looked up at lynns face I saw something of beauty. A servants heart, full of love and kindness. It taught me a good lesson. Several actually. You should never judge a book by its cover. Just because someone has lived far longer of a life than you, does not mean that they are to be ignored or thrown to the way side, in fact because they have lived far longer, they have the best advice, they've been there, they have raised children who have been there. They have grandchildren who are you, that are there. I almost didn't sit beside Lynn. I was slightly worried that she might. Have worked with radiation. She had a strange sort of beard, which still kinda freaks Me out. But Lynn had a story, and I was glad to hear it. Not everyone on the bus is quite so open, some seem angry when you ask how are you, and how was your day. The woman I sat beside today. I named her Gearldine. She was a fierce African American woman, but also looked like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had the glazed over I'm here but I'm not could cry at any moment kind of look. I want to take her picture, she looks so strong, but so lost in thought. She pulls the cord, signaling the end of our time together. I change seats. I have a window seat now. And have no seat mate. The couple behind me are arguing at a whispered tone. And though I know I shouldn't I strain to hear. After about a minute. Intense sadness fills my heart. The words, you need to turn yourself in fills my ears. A man pleading with his love to right whatever wrong she has committed. As I try to lose myself in My own thoughts. I hear the buzz of the stop signal. As I glance up, the woman exits the bus. Nothing but kindness and love in her eyes. As she turns to say goodbye I see the desperation I heard in his voice, she is pregnant, and largely so. I wonder where the people go when they leave the bus. I go home, but what about them? What is they're home?