A Bus Ride to Remember
By Abbie Longmate
A man, dressed in his Tuesday best,
Sits pensively in his self-proclaimed throne of the bus.
He looks old, but it’s hard to say really.
He was considered an amiable fellow
To those who knew him
Back in the day.
Back in the days before microwave meals
For one.
Back in the days before smiles to folk on the bus
Were met with the surly scowls and contempt
Of those just there for the commute.
A woman, fresh out of the city office,
Steps onto the bus with an air of corporate decorum.
A friendly smile from the old man ignites irritation:
This is not part of her routine, smiling back
At creepy strangers on the bus. Probably drunk too.
A glower in his direction will do.
She brushes her seat, sanitizes her hands frantically,
Pulls out her iPhone and launches Facebook.
Closes app, reopens app.
Closes app, reopens app.
A love-react here, a Gorgeous family! there.
A girl, no more than eighteen, listens
to the monotone refrain from her phone:
The person you have called is unavailable right now,
Please leave a message after the tone.
Patronising her, telling her that, really,
The person you desire is unavailable right now,
Please leave his jumper outside his front door.
She stares vacantly out of the window,
Smearing an opening from the fog with her sleeve.
She places her headphones on
but plays no music.
A young mother, cradling her baby like the Madonna,
Coaxes and coos to quieten the screaming.
She hears the hushed sighs of fellow passengers,
Notices the familiar disgruntled fidgeting.
Those anti-baby-on-bus complaints never vocalized.
She wishes every minute
Were quicker than the last,
While pondering the sad truth
That the bus home is her only sanctuary
From the scrutiny of family.
In just 11 minutes she would receive her daily judgement.
The bus driver, lethargic after a long day,
Pulls over and sips his fourth instant coffee.
This is his least favourite journey of the day:
Rush hour.
The stand-still traffic and impatient beeps, the
WHAT YA WAITING FOR MATE?
From the school kids at the back
Eager to get home to a night of ignoring mum,
And that peculiar old man who always wants to talk
About the way buses used to be
Back in his day.
Ding! Ding! It’s the old man’s stop.
Time for frozen vegetable lasagne and
Strictly Come Dancing.
These small routines remind him of her.
He uses the poles to balance himself
As he passes to the front of the bus.
Approaching the driver, he turns round to his crowd,
And in his best lofty orator voice, declares
A chat with a stranger a day,
Keeps the suffocating loneliness at bay.
He is met with blank stares and awkward silence.
After he shuffled off the bus
And bid the bus driver goodbye
The passengers returned to those activities
In which they were previously engrossed:
Mindless scrolling, obsessive phone-checking, restless waiting,
As if the strange old man on the bus never spoke.
Connected by the moment but detached from experience.
Still, each gave a slightly cheerier hello
To their loved ones
As they slipped into the warmth
Of their homes that night.
ST.ART does not own the rights to any images used in this article.