It's Okay ...I'll Take the Bus

As someone who frequently drove cars that were more than 20 years old, had limited funds, and disliked driving on crowded East Coast highways, I've frequently taken buses or splurged on trains from Harrisburg (PA) to Philly or Williamsport (PA), New York to Boston, and down to Dover (MD) and DC. Many trips were to visit old friends. Then there was the bus trip back to my native New Jersey to visit my dying father, and the time I suddenly and uncharacteristically hopped a train to DC to meet a New Zealand Conservationist I'd been following on social media. Despite my high anxiety about missing connections, public transportation just made sense, with the added benefit of taking one extra car off the road.

A few years back my younger brother was staying at a beach cottage in Delaware and invited me and rest of our siblings to stay with him. I was able to take a few vacation days from work but lacked funding for more than one train and several longer bus rides to reach my destination. I wanted to spend some time enjoying the ocean and being with my family, so my sister expressed some sympathy for me having to spend so much time travelling. Yet, despite being a somewhat shy, awkward introvert, I encountered some very interesting people along the way and quite enjoyed the trip.

My mother had written about local events in a small-town newspaper, and, although I liked writing, I never saw myself as being outgoing enough to be a journalist. However, riding buses alone was a bit like reading an interesting series of short, random biographies or character sketches.

On the first part of the journey, I took a train out of Philly crammed full of upper middle-class professionals. The train was so packed that I had trouble finding an empty seat and, struggling with my heavy duffle bag, apologetically approached a very handsome, stylishly-dressed blond young man to ask if I could sit on the only empty seat next to him. Instead of looking annoyed, he flashed me a very pleasant smile and nod as he was talking on his cell phone. I slid down, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He had a lovely European accent and was talking to someone about a party. From the way he spoke, I was imaging some posh, artistic crowd with exquisite taste at a high society affair. Then my companion asked the person on the other end of the line about some guests...if they were the ones with the vampire teeth. Vampire teeth?!?!? Of course, the cute guy who smiled at me on the train hung out with the undead! How come no one told me that I needed to pack garlic and a crucifix for a morning commuter train??

Then, once I boarded a bus bound for Maryland, I found myself a lone white face surrounded by a sea of black ones for a good part of my journey. When I had a stop-over in a cloudy downtown area, I waited quite a while at a bus stop where an older man in a wheelchair with a dust-covered baseball cap was pan handing. I told him quite truthfully that I had barely enough money to travel but offered him part of my brown bag lunch. He accepted the food, but a heavy-set woman, carrying heavy luggage and wearing a sweatshirt, countered that he was taking advantage of me and that I was a "bleeding heart." I explained that I had merely shared my lunch with him as he apparently was homeless. She and I talked a bit and discovered that we both had recently lost our mothers. Crying, she told me of the guilt she carried because her mother died of neglect in a nursing home and she could not help her. My companion had first gestured to a nearby building when I asked where she lived but then finally admitted to me what I had suspected. She was homeless, too. By the time my bus arrived, I had promised to pray for her healing from that burden of guilt. She did not ask me for food or cash, but I think our hearts touched in the brief time spent together.

As the morning grew sunnier and the landscape greener, a large number of older men in rubber boots and work clothes rode the bus with me. I could tell from their chatter that they worked at nearby poultry-processing plants.

"They used to give us extra chicken pieces that didn't come out okay to take home and cook. They don't do that no more!" said one man.

"Everyone wants those, um.. organic chickens now, you know," said another.

"Well, did you see some of those chickens we had?? Those chickens was messed up!!!" his companion said vehemently. I chuckled to myself at his expression but my suspicions about factory-farming were once again confirmed.

The bus increasingly stopped amidst farmers’ fields and tourist areas. A young, slender, attractive lady, familiar to the driver, stepped aboard. She apparently worked at one of the local tourist attractions, so I listened to the friendly chatter among the work-a-day "regulars" until switching to a downtown commuter bus.

Now I once again started seeing skin of various, paler hues. A big, bearded guy placed his bicycle on the commuter bus's bike rack and entered the bus as just I did. I was unfamiliar with the raised seating in the back of the bus and almost thrown from my seat as the bus lurched forward. The bearded guy explained the city bus set-up to me and we struck up a conversation. He reminded me of my older brother both in his in appearance and in his struggles to stop smoking and lose weight. He had taken up bike riding to help him in his efforts. We talked about our families and watched out for each other's final stop until we parted with a quick wave and well wishes.

My sister’s car came into view as the bus pulled around a shopping center. She and my grown niece were standing beside the open trunk, awaiting my luggage. I dragged my heavy duffle bag down the bus step, but my heart was full, too, carrying snapshots of brief encounters with lives that crossed paths with mine on a late summer day in September.