The Woman on the Bus

Well, much as I would like to say I have another wonderful, peaceful story to share…that would not be the case with this tale—although it does start out that way. Monday afternoon I once again boarded a very full bus for my ride home. It started out delightfully as a man offered me his seat—an action almost never seen in my experience. I said, ‘thanks, I’m okay,’ but he insisted and told me that ‘chivalry was not dead.’ We laughed and conversed with a couple of other passengers until the next stop when he exited the bus. The exchange left me smiling and with a sense of hope.

The ride continued and I found myself between the window and a youngish man wearing large headphones, ensconced in his own world. As the bus came to a stop the woman in front of me needed to exit and her seat partner stood to let her out. The partner was facing me and just as I was about to nod and smile, her face darkened and she spit out, “Quit staring at me because I’m black!!” and then as she plopped into her seat she muttered rather loudly, “Bitch.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Thoughts raced through my head. Is she talking to me? How could she think that? What did I do? She’s black? Her color had not even registered in my thoughts. I found myself wanting to apologize and say something to her, but realized that would be for my benefit not hers. I then started to wonder about the obvious anger and hurt inside of her. How had she become so guarded? Who had done this to her? Why must people be so unkind and cruel? It felt like she was spitting hatred onto me that had been heaped onto her throughout her twenty-something years of life.

And so, while very different experiences, this one has continued to stay with me as does "The Man on the Bus." These encounters have been added to the fabric of my life. It feels somehow trite to say, but I pray specifically for this man and woman and wonder where their lives will lead them. I have been changed by my experience of them while realizing my existence may not even register for them. We never know in life when or how we touch others.

"In surrendering to the miracle of the everyday, the Warrior of the Light notices he cannot always foresee the consequences of his actions. Sometimes he acts without even knowing that he is doing so, he saves someone without even knowing he is saving them, he suffers without even knowing why he is sad." --Paulo Coelho

May we all choose to surrender to the miracle of the everyday!

photo by bill hughlett

The Man on the Bus

A very memorable experience presented itself yesterday during my bus ride home from downtown. I climbed on the 15 Local (slower than the Express I just missed) and found it to be quite full. There was an empty space toward the front next to a man in a window seat. After sitting down I noticed he did not seem to be aware of his surroundings and was slightly swaying in his seat. It was hard to determine if he was intoxicated or simply exhausted and having an impossible time staying awake.

As we rode along I realized he was tilting more and more in my direction. Normally I am very aware of personal space on the bus (both mine and other’s) but for some reason this did not feel like an intrusion. The weight of his body pressed more deeply against mine until I found myself holding onto the seat handle to keep from being pushed into the aisle. This, too, seemed okay to me. After a bit, his head came to rest on my shoulder. Other riders had started to look in our direction by this time seeming to wonder what was going on. At one point, a woman in the next row pointed out an empty seat for me in the handicap row. I’m not sure why, but it felt like I would be abandoning my seat partner if I got up to move. I was comfortable right where I was, and so we continued along, two strangers, his head gently laying on my shoulder and me feeling somewhat like a guardian angel.

As we rode along I was able to see him a bit more closely. I imagine he was in his late thirties or early forties although he could have been younger. He was well-groomed and cleanly dressed in a baseball jacket with leather sleeves, a button down shirt and nice jeans. In his lap was some type of canvas portfolio. His skin was dark and his features were reminiscent of someone from Ethiopia or possibly Eritrea although I could not know for sure. Again, I wondered about his state of near unconsciousness. He did not reek of alcohol although I thought I could detect a slight hint of something. He appeared totally incapable of keeping his eyes open or his head erect—bobbing as the bus continued its route.

Several times during the 30-minute ride I was given opportunity to move from my seat, but each time I declined. It is very difficult to explain the peace I felt as I sat next to this stranger. It felt as if for a moment in time it was my job to be with this man. I did not trust that anyone else would be kind to him if I left the seat open where I now sat. I kept thinking how he seemed to need a shoulder to lean on. Ironically, there were times in the ride when it would have been hard to tell who was leaning on whom as I pressed in to keep from falling out of my seat.

Fortunately, before we got to my stop he had shifted his weight to lean against the window side of the bus so I did not have to worry that he would fall to the floor when I left. I prayed for him as we rode side by side and wondered about his dreams and aspirations. Where had he been? Where was he going? Why was he so exhausted and/or intoxicated? Stories ran through my mind about the possibilities. While I don’t believe he ever cognitively recognized I was there with him, as I placed his fallen binder on the seat next to him, I hoped that somewhere in his soul he would be able to feel and recognize that someone had been with him as he rode obliviously through the streets of Seattle.

I will certainly remember him. It was a uniquely blessed time for me. I am not sure who ministered to whom in those moments, but I did recognize clearly that sometimes we all need a shoulder to lean on.

photo by bill hughlett