Curiosity On The Crosstown

I was sitting on the seat that faces the interior near the back of the bus. I love and hate these seats. They’ve been added to the new bus design in the last few years. You get to sit alone, but typically only when the bus is full. It’s comfortable and cramped all at the same time. Love. Hate.

On my way to class, I was trying not to think about my car. Four hundred dollars in repairs, and I’d only had it a year. Hence the bus. At least this way I get to read while I ride. I was thoroughly engrossed in a historical romance novel when the lady sitting in the seat crammed on my right got up, and a homeless guy sat down.

I started to get up and move my seat when he said something to me that stopped me gathering my things.

“Evil prospers when good men do nothing.”

I was so caught off guard I just stopped and looked over at him.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I said.

Turning to look me directly in the eyes he said, “You want more than just the things left behind by those who hustle…don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I stammered.

I was transfixed. And that’s when I realized how amazing his eyes were. The whites were so clear. Like a newborn. And the color of his pupils was like nothing I’d ever seen. Blue-green-brown-gold. They were piercing like they had a light all their own, and he was shining it right on me.

I withdrew into myself, and my seat a little bit, and replied with the first thing that came to my mind. “That reminds me of a quote from my favorite movie. Something Abraham Lincoln said.”

“That’s right, Butterfly. Don’t wait for the good things. Chase them. Be a part of the hustle. Not the cleaning crew.”

I said, “Okay. I’ll remember that.”

“I have something for you. Wait. Here hold this.” he said, handing me a kitten I hadn’t noticed that he had until that second.

He reached into a bag, within a bag, with a bar over it, and pulled out a wrinkled, grimy white paper bag. The kind you get at the random greasy spoon, with the amazing all beef hamburgers and steak fries. Incidentally this bag came complete with grease spots as well.

He handed me the bag. He began patting himself down and eventually pulled a little black book from one of his pockets. There was a rubber band around it twice, the short way, holding a pen in place. He pulled it off, flipped the pages, scribbled something, rewrapped his rubber band around it, and hid it away again. Then he motioned with his hand for me to hand him the kitten back. He tucked the kitten into the breast of the topmost coat he wore, pulled the cord for the next stop, and started gathering his bags.

As he half stood, he looked directly at me, while looming over me slightly and said “Don’t ever be the good man that does nothing. Hustle. His greatest trick is the deception of his existence. Hustle, Butterfly. Hustle.”

I came out of the spell I seemed to be under just in time to catch his arm before he was out of my reach. “Why do you keep calling me Butterfly?” I asked. My mother had called me that when I was little, but only in private.

He gave me an ironic smile and said, “Because you’re not a caterpillar anymore.”

He winked and was gone.

The bus was crowded enough that I couldn’t see out of the opposite side. I had no idea what had just happened, or which way he’d gone, or what I’d do if I knew.

I stared down at the bag in one hand, and the cat hair on the palm of the mitten of my other, shaking my head. This kind of stuff only happens to me, I thought.

I looked out of the window and realized I’d reached the campus. I wanted-no, I needed caffeine before class. Maybe that’s why the encounter seemed so strange. I’m still half asleep, I mused.

That’s got to be it.

I pulled the cord for the next stop. Thank God for the campus coffee shop. I shoved the white paper bag into my purse, pulled it and my bookbag onto my shoulder, adjusting the placement of my arm for pickpockets, and edged through the crowd off the bus.

I had gotten all the way to the cashier before I thought again about the strange encounter. I mean who has eyes like that. I was definitely still asleep. “The cold obviously hasn’t done the job, Butterfly”, I murmured and laughed to myself.

My wallet was all the way in the bottom of my purse. After pulling everything out and replacing it all I grabbed my coffee and turned to leave the counter. The barista called out “Butterfly…”

I turned with a frown on my face. She was smiling at me and holding out the white paper bag. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

I paused, looking at her skeptically. I nodded and took the bag from her.

“Why did you call me that?” I said warily.

“Well, you can’t be a caterpillar in this weather, can you?” she said laughingly.

Again, I nodded, looking at her like she’d just offered me hot coals and broken glass with my coffee.

Then her smile faltered. She put her hands up in the international sign of surrender. “Just kidding. It says it right there on the bag. In black magic marker. Did I say something wrong?...”

I looked down at the bag and there it was as plain as day. I was sure it hadn’t been there before.

I pasted on a smile and shook my head, trying to diffuse the tension.

“I just realized that I didn’t leave a tip.”

My smile was forced and tight. I was just hoping she couldn’t tell. Get a grip ‘Butterfly’, I thought.

Weirdest morning ever.

And there I was with everything out of my purse once again, wallet in hand. Only to discover that I didn’t have any cash, and I hadn’t signed for a tip on the receipt. Now I looked like a weirdo, and cheapo. Mini calamitous adventures. Like, every time I leave the house.

I’d gotten everything back in my purse except the white paper bag which for some reason seemed now not to want to fit. I turned it sideways and shoved.

Riiiip.

I breathed a hard sigh and pushed a little more gently. The bag ripped again, and that’s when I noticed the green color in the split in the bag. I turned discreetly and pulled the green paper through the tear.

It was a five-dollar bill.

I turned and deposited the five in the tip jar, said thank you, and started to make my way to the entrance. A group of around eight people were coming through the door. I turned and made a quick detour to the restroom to collect myself.

And to count the money.

There was twenty thousand dollars in the bag. Holy crap!

I shook it off, reorganized my purse with the paper bag near the bottom, and walked back to the front door.

Another large group was coming in, just then. I stood aside, while they entered, and looked out of the plate glass window beside the door.

Right into the eyes of the homeless man.

He smiled and winked at me.

Someone tapped me on my shoulder to ask if I had already ordered, or if I was in line. I answered distractedly and turned back to the window to look for my mysterious benefactor.

He was gone…again.

I adjusted my bags, thinking even harder about potential pickpockets now. Then I walked out of the door of the café as more caffeinators walked in.

The last time it was a guy with a goat. This time a cryptic, homeless oracle. I have got to stay off the Crosstown bus.

I looked up into the heavens, smiled a broad grin, shook my head and went to class.