I’m an observer. I recently read a post online that said we observers are called “Noticers”. The blogger called us beautiful gifts to a frenzied world. I’m not to sure about that but each morning I get on the bus I notice the people around me.
First, my insane mind immediately attempts to pick out the leaders on the bus. Who did I think would step up and take action if the bus was suddenly attacked by terrorists. The movie “Speed” comes to mind and I know I would snatch the wheel and try to keep us going. Hopefully, the police send Keanu Reeves or the whole thing is just not worth it! (I don’t know why my mind goes to the worst case scenario, it just does.)
Secondly, I wonder where each of us on the bus are going.
Where was the man to my left going with his thick, brown leather watch, his crew cut, brown glasses and too serious eyes? He had an incessant need to pop the gum he was chewing. He got dirty looks from the woman riding beside him.
Or the blind woman. She rode at the front and talked nonstop to her partner. They knew each other, he helped her on and off the bus. I’ve sat by them a time or two and she talks about her work. I think they work together. While she talks she moves her head, tipped up and back, true Stevie Wonder style and smiles while she talks. She has a great smile. Her partner sits stoically listening, interjecting at times, his back rigid and his briefcase in his lap. She talks with her tennis shoes barely touching the ground.
This morning at the traffic light there was a man on the sidewalk. For a minute I thought was talking to the bus driver. He was looking toward us, nodded, then waved his hand. He smiled, waved again and turned to the left. He had something in his hand, two little boxes, the size of a box of Dominos or cards. Maybe they were Dominos. He set the box down, stepped around it, stopped and bowed. I realized then this man wasn’t quite right. A quick glance at the big mirror above the bus driver’s head confirmed he was not conversing with the man on the street.
He didn’t look homeless, other than the two little boxes, he didn’t carry any bags. He wore tan shorts and a button down shirt. He looked unkempt. Just then he set one of the boxes down on the sidewalk and jumped into the grass, like the walkway was a river. He hunkered down sitting on his feet with his knees facing forward and stared at his box. What was he thinking? What was he doing? He stood up made a left turn and bowed again.
The light changed colors and we started to move but I kept my eyes on the box. My curiosity was in overdrive. What could be in the box? But we turned the corner and he was out of sight, I would never know. So I did what I normally do in those situations, I invented an ending to his story.
Like in the movie “Cast Away”, at the end Tom Hanks stands at the crossroads, what ends up happening? They leave it up to you. In my mind, he goes back to the artist and tells her his story and they end up falling in love. He definitely deserved love, pining for a woman who loved him but could never be with him so I thought my ending was fitting.
The man on the street was obviously lost. He inadvertently slipped out of the care unit and was wondering around with the only two things he could take from the psychiatric ward, two boxes of Dominos. An orderly, driving passed on his way to hospital, recognizes Phil, the unkempt man with the chia-pet hair in tan pants. He pulls over and drives the confused man back to the hospital.
Feeling better, I go back to noticing the people around me and no one notices me, the crazy lady in grey dress pants and the silk blouse lost in her thoughts. Where am I going? Who really knows. Aren’t we all a little crazy dealing with life and sidestepping the issues that make us who we are? I think we are.
The only thing is we’re not out on the sidewalk, we’re on the bus. The crazy bus. Lol