The bus is packed, so packed that my friend called to ask me to set up her room at work and I told her I was on the same bus as her - she just couldn't see me. "Hell ride," she replied.
I am in the very back row all the way in the corner seat. This seat carries with it a certain sense of anxiety. I know if I have to be let out everyone will be slightly upset. It is like having to turn left with traffic behind you. Everyone is thinking, "Why the shit do you have to turn left in front of me?!" My stop is coming up and the two people next to me think as I pass through the laps of as-is strangers, "Oh great! Of course you have to get off the bus here. Just when I got to sit down and space out. That's just great!"
Two rows forward and facing me a small, Hispanic woman is looking out the window and one tear escapes her eye. It dangles there in the corner and she looks too sorrowful to care, frozen in morning despair. It begins to cascade down her cheek and she pulls her shirt sleeve over her hand to wipe it away. She clenches her eyes tight to keep any more from escaping, but it squishes out a few more and she takes the corner of her cuff to her lash line to sweep running mascara. One deep swallow. She's staring like a fish trying not to blink - eyes like good, glassy surf. She wipes her nose a couple of times. She's holding it together for the sake of the bus.
I wanted to go over and hold her. I wanted her to look over so I could mouth, "Are you okay? It will be okay." I wanted to be a monster and ignore her, spare her the embarrassment of being human.
She got off at Broadway. I imagine she will go into the bathroom and shut the door at her place of work and dump the emotion out of her eyes without the reflection of an unforgiving public.
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