Written April 21, 2020 by Emma McBean
It's 7:30 amNothing new.
Same old route.
I climb up the stairs.
Nod to the bus driver.
My seat is the usual;
three seats down and to the right.
Worn with a tear on the vinyl.
I sit down,
pull my bags up under my chin.
I'm tired still, so I rest my chin on them
It's a twenty minute ride from here to there
The bus stops 15 times before we get there
I am lulled by the rocking motion of the bus
Adrift in my thoughts,
I nearly fall back asleep.
Just then, I'm jolted by the sound of the airbrakes
As the bus pulls up short in front of a stop.
Apparently it almost missed a passenger
Or prospective passenger.
The doors open,
The bus driver mutters an apology.
The figure climbs up the stairs slowly,
Hooded sweatshirt over a baseball cap,
Dirty dark jeans and work boots.
His clothes are larger than the frame
He sits down across from me
And, stares.
He stares at me for two stops.
I'm okay with it until the second stop.
Now I'm uncomfortable.
What is he looking at me for?
Did I forget to wipe something from my face?
Does he know me?
No, there is no recognition on his face.
Three stops go by and he's still staring at me.
Then four then five. I don't know what to do. I look away.
Then finally I stare back.
I'm mad.
How dare he just stare at me with abandon?
I feel violated.
I can't get away.
Should I move?
I've never seen him before.
But maybe just maybe I had seen him before.
Had I slighted him?
I don't always give money to the guys on the street.
I can't tell if he's a "guy on the street" or a guy going to his construction job.
Finally, I lean forward, my mouth barely open.
Just as I'm about to say something.
The bus stops again.
Someone else other than this man had pulled the cord for a stop.
But, his body position changes.
He's preparing to stand up and looks to be getting off.
Finally, Jesus!
Enough with the awkwardness!
As he stands up, I notice his eyes don't remain locked on me in a stare.
No. They just remain level looking ever presently out in front of him.
I shudder with the realization that this person was not and is not seeing me.
He just plain wasn't seeing me!
And quite possibly he wasn't seeing anything or anyone else or at least not clearly enough to recognize what he was looking at.
He may have been staring out ahead of habit, one I might develop if I never wore my glasses and went through my day pretty much half blind.
I do a mental palm to forehead.
I almost bitched this guy out!
Here I was sitting and staring back at someone who could not see me.
And, I confirm this reality now...noticing how he shuffles off the bus.
He's holding on to the backs of seats and the poles
Had he done the same when he got on?
If he had, I hadn't noticed.
He slowly goes down the stairs with the same look in his eyes and on his face as he had when he sat down in front of me.
"Bye-bye Clark," he says to the bus driver.
"Take it easy, John," says the bus driver.
The doors close behind John as he lumbers down the stairs of the bus and heads off into the city.
I shake my head visibly and sigh audibly, suddenly aware that...
What is before us is not always what it appears to be.
What I see is not necessarily what others are.
My world is not THE world.
In this case, I was the blind one.
Same old route.
I climb up the stairs.
Nod to the bus driver.
My seat is the usual;
three seats down and to the right.
Worn with a tear on the vinyl.
I sit down,
pull my bags up under my chin.
I'm tired still, so I rest my chin on them
It's a twenty minute ride from here to there
The bus stops 15 times before we get there
I am lulled by the rocking motion of the bus
Adrift in my thoughts,
I nearly fall back asleep.
Just then, I'm jolted by the sound of the airbrakes
As the bus pulls up short in front of a stop.
Apparently it almost missed a passenger
Or prospective passenger.
The doors open,
The bus driver mutters an apology.
The figure climbs up the stairs slowly,
Hooded sweatshirt over a baseball cap,
Dirty dark jeans and work boots.
His clothes are larger than the frame
He sits down across from me
And, stares.
He stares at me for two stops.
I'm okay with it until the second stop.
Now I'm uncomfortable.
What is he looking at me for?
Did I forget to wipe something from my face?
Does he know me?
No, there is no recognition on his face.
Three stops go by and he's still staring at me.
Then four then five. I don't know what to do. I look away.
Then finally I stare back.
I'm mad.
How dare he just stare at me with abandon?
I feel violated.
I can't get away.
Should I move?
I've never seen him before.
But maybe just maybe I had seen him before.
Had I slighted him?
I don't always give money to the guys on the street.
I can't tell if he's a "guy on the street" or a guy going to his construction job.
Finally, I lean forward, my mouth barely open.
Just as I'm about to say something.
The bus stops again.
Someone else other than this man had pulled the cord for a stop.
But, his body position changes.
He's preparing to stand up and looks to be getting off.
Finally, Jesus!
Enough with the awkwardness!
As he stands up, I notice his eyes don't remain locked on me in a stare.
No. They just remain level looking ever presently out in front of him.
I shudder with the realization that this person was not and is not seeing me.
He just plain wasn't seeing me!
And quite possibly he wasn't seeing anything or anyone else or at least not clearly enough to recognize what he was looking at.
He may have been staring out ahead of habit, one I might develop if I never wore my glasses and went through my day pretty much half blind.
I do a mental palm to forehead.
I almost bitched this guy out!
Here I was sitting and staring back at someone who could not see me.
And, I confirm this reality now...noticing how he shuffles off the bus.
He's holding on to the backs of seats and the poles
Had he done the same when he got on?
If he had, I hadn't noticed.
He slowly goes down the stairs with the same look in his eyes and on his face as he had when he sat down in front of me.
"Bye-bye Clark," he says to the bus driver.
"Take it easy, John," says the bus driver.
The doors close behind John as he lumbers down the stairs of the bus and heads off into the city.
I shake my head visibly and sigh audibly, suddenly aware that...
What is before us is not always what it appears to be.
What I see is not necessarily what others are.
My world is not THE world.
In this case, I was the blind one.
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