I’ve taken to reading on the bus—in fact I rode the bus for much of the day today just so I could read my book.
At home, reading a book feels lazy. I tire, wander, do sit-ups, even walk down the street while reading. On the bus, I can live twice. With one body I’m in motion, travelling, passing sites, people around me. With my mind I am living in the universe of my book and can travel through Montana, North Dakota, Texas, and forget The Shadow Motel and Rite Aid flashing by.
I suppose it’s the anonymity I like. There’s a great deal of equality on the bus—the other riders don’t care about my life any more than I care about theirs. Neither one of us is trying to help the other.
***
In the suburbs the high rise fences keep my space from drippling into yours. On the bus the wide hips spill over the edge of the chairs. Most of the talk on the bus seems to be about romance. Women talk loudly of the men who want them to move in with them. It gives a person a feeling of value to say someone wants me.
This also does not change as you climb up the hills from the middle of Spokane.
I walked from the freeway once all the way up to the Northside. The poor live in the lowest elevations—the places you look over when you walk the tunnel of the Maple Street Bridge. As you walk North the city changes. The beautiful houses perch on the hill like seagulls with imperious eyes.
But the women on the hills claim men for themselves in the same need to be wanted. They guard their men—that’s what all the houses are for. They are guarding their sense of value. The women on the buses claim their loves too, but the bus being more mobile than the houses, they claim many men in a more lighthearted way.
***
I'm one of the only lone riders today. The man offering cold fries to the rest of the bus is scolded by the woman with him, "stop it, you're embarrassing me." The blond woman with the whiskey voice meets an old friend from Sandpoint and they catch up on love and children. The teenage girl finds a lap to sit on for the trip.
Our common denominator seems to be our need for each other--our uncategorical need to be peopled. The handicapped have helpers, the young have lovers, the outsiders have frineds.
I guess I'm feeling lonely sitting here, in the front of the bus.
3 comments:
I ride the bus too :) I enjoy the opportunity to do one of three things,
a) continue the ongoing anthropological/sociological observation that is eavesdropping on other peoples' (sometimes very interesting) conversations
b) read a good book
c) get more sleep!
Mostly this is a response to the topic. But re: writing, I love (as you do so well) how you take this mundane experience of getting on the bus to move from point A to point B and come away with such a powerful realization about yourself and the world through it :)
This form that you've been working with (in AWW and here) is wonderful because it combines my favorite genre (cnf)...with my favorite aspect of poetry (the turn at the end).
Thanks Allison. Glad you ride the bus too. I've always had kind of an attitude about busses but realized lately just how cool they are (and yes, eavesdropping is such fun!)
This is well done, and I think you could expand it by giving us some visuals of the blond woman with the whiskey voice, the poor, and yourself. What are you reading? Where on the bus are you? Is the bus dirty (like they are here in Pittsburgh)?
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