8:30 am: 30-something Taxi-Driver
The discomfort of his own silence, leads him to hum at a consistent and barely audible volume. He makes soft snapping sounds with his tongue, to replace the words he can't be bothered to say. I catch his nervous gaze as he checks his blind spot, and look away, to avoid the accidental intimacy of eye contact.
9am-noon: Pam, the Athletic Girl's Grandma
Her laughter reminds me of someone I once loved, so I keep talking, just to hear it more. She asks questions, I answer, Jasmine Tea in hand, wondering if her granddaughter, the Athlete, knows how lucky she is. We share stories, as I watch the world breeze by through her train window. I tell her it was a pleasure, and I mean it. She says, "it was lovely to meet you", and I feel it.
12:15pm: Norman the Grey-Haired Go-Bus Driver
He likes my suitcase and asks if it's a vintage collectors. I giggle with flattery and tell him I just like ugly things from Value Village. He says, that's fair. I push my luggage into the lower compartment with my foot, trying to avoid my dress from flying up in the wind. He waits, and I hope he doesn't see my underwear. I hand him my ticket, and he nods me in. Goodbye Norman.
12:16- 2pm: Dress-Pant Man with No Beard
He offers to hold my carrot-sprout juice from the Union Station, as I cram my over sized purple carry-on into the tiny compartment above us. He smiles, and I secretly wince. Happy with his kind gesture of juice-holding, I sit beside, rather than behind him. but weary of his naked beardless face and stagnate coffee breath, I keep my left leg closer to the aisle, than to him. We quietly exchange polite, yet awkward smiles, and I pretend to sleep for 20 minutes, trying to avoid the smell of his words. He tells me the weather is looking up, and I agree. He tells me he caught the 6:30 train to Aurora, and I sympathize with his exhaustion, plucking sneakily with my fingers at my roasted red peppers. He looks out his window, though I swear he's watching me through it's reflection in the corner of his eye....so i continue to eat my lunch with extra swift and stealth. He shakes my hand before his stop, and leaves. Dress pants and bad cologne.
2:20-4pm: Gabriel, the Nigerian Pharmacist from Newfoundland
Giggling, he enters the Go-bus, relieved by the fluke of having caught it, despite his watch being 1 hour behind. He shows me his wrist when he sits next to me. Our legs sort of touch, but I don't mind. After exchanging pleasantries, he gives me 2 and a half hours of career advice, as I nod and smile when appropriate. His accent is endearing, so I don't bother interrupting him, to explain why I don't want to work for the government or join the Navy. I like the mystery of my own silence. He tells me he met his wife on a bus, when he was in college. I notice his stubby fingers remind me of my eight grade math teacher's. I tell him I'm married too, mostly for the secret delight I get from referring to Andrew as "my husband", when speaking to strangers. He waves at me from outside, after we drop him off. I can tell he's giggling again, even as we pull away. Gabriel, the pharmacist who wishes he still lived in BC, will now visit his cousins for the weekend. In Barrie.
I really like this post.
ReplyDelete