Tears On the Bus

I climbed on the bus, cellphone smashed to my ear, trying to juggle my bus pass and my bag as well as trying to make sure the phone didn't fall. My sister was talking on the other end. The despair was rising in my stomach and making its way to chest. I managed to pull my bus pass through the machine and started making my way to the back of the bus. I was still trying to listen to what my sister had to say but I was slowly growing less willing to bend my ear. Her accusations came like harsh slaps on the face. Her expectations seemed insurmountable. I was speaking in hushed strained tones as I tried desperately to explain myself, to reason with her, to tell her how I was feeling and what I was going through. She wasn't listening. It was like talking to a brick wall. She kept talking until I finally had enough and halted the conversation by telling her I didn't want to talk anymore. There were only a couple people on the bus, but they were staring at me as though I was an alien with three heads. I had found a place at the back of the bus - a window seat. I was trying to speak in even more hushed tones but the frustration was rising and I could tell I wasn't succeeding at being inconspicuous. My sister kept talking, bringing up painful memories from the past, trying to say something to convince me to see things her way. Nothing mattered but what my family thought. What about my thoughts? What about my dreams? What about my desires and how I saw things? What about my life? When did I get to start living my life and quit living everyone else's? When would my family see me as me and not a reproduction of themselves? When would I get to be my own person and be loved and respected for who I was rather than constantly being forced to conform, to fit a mold that I didn't fit?
The cell phone was growing warm in my hand. My head hurt from listening, from thinking. The desperation, the hurt, the frustration rose as tears in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. Now there were quite a few more people on the bus and a couple had seated themselves right behind me and across the aisle from me. I was embarrassed at my red, blotchy face and the tears that were still tumbling down my face; I couldn't stop the flow. It was all I could do to keep the sobs from escaping my mouth; resisting the tears was out of the question. My sister had finally said everything she wanted to say. "I love you. We can talk some more later. Bye." As she said goodbye I mumbled something and closed my phone. I turned so that I was completely facing the window. I had another 15 minute ride until I could escape the wondering probing eyes of those on the bus around me.
It was raining outside. The raindrops fell on the window and ran down it making small streams. I leaned my head against the glass and let the tears fall. I didn't care anymore who saw me. They would just have to wonder and stare. I had held it in too long; there was no resistance left. I knew the tears wouldn't fix anything but they were there and I couldn't hold them back. It was still raining outside. The gray clouds and stormy atmosphere felt like a picture of me, what I looked like inside. It was raining outside, raining inside.

Urban Bus Adventure: Counseling on the Bus

It was December, finals weeks, and I was tired from a long day of exams. I had been sitting at the bus stop for over 15 minutes waiting for the bus to arrive. When it finally got there (it was late) I noticed it was already well-packed with passengers. This particular bus route was very popular and there were very few times when the bus was empty. I looked around me and noticed there were multiple passengers boarding the bus with me and no one was getting off. "Oh, boy," I thought, "this is going to be an interesting ride." I stood at the front of the bus and scanned the rows for a free seat. I saw one toward the middle of the bus. A window seat -- Thank God! I loved looking out the window when riding the bus, especially when it was over-crowded. It acted as my escape from the craziness around me and it helped me look preoccupied so people would be less inclined to strike up a conversation with me. I quickly made my way to the seat wanting to ensure I didn't lose it to any of my fellow boarding passengers. I slid into the seat and settled my backpack on my lap. It was rather cool outside and I was thankful for the warmth of the bus and happy I had found a seat. There were several passengers that were less fortunate and they were standing, holding on to the overhead railing. The bus doors closed and we lurched forward - we were on our way. Withing a few minutes we were arriving at another stop and there were, again, multiple people waiting to board. As the people filed onto the bus I couldn't help but wonder where they were going to sit or even stand for that matter. There were no seats left and the aisle was even beginning to be very crowded. A man and woman, apparently in deep conversation, stepped onto the bus. They appeared to know each other rather well and the conversation went well beyond the usual bus banter that took place on a regular basis during most bus rides. The man seemed to be very upset about something and the woman was listening very sympathetically. They started to walk down the aisle looking for a place to positions themselves as the bus began to pull forward again. They stopped just behind me, continuing their conversation as though they weren't on a bus full of people.
Man: So I had to spend all that time getting a hold of the doctor's office just to for them to turn around and tell me they couldn't treat me until the insurance company agreed to pay for it. Can you believe it? I was outraged! I mean, I really needed help and they were doing very little to help me. Last I checked the medical profession was about helping people.
Woman: Well, things are really complicated these days. There are lots of rules and regulations for everyone to follow.
Man: I know, but how sad is that! I mean I needed help! You can't imagine the emotional strain this whole ordeal has put on me, not to mention the pain and agony from all my physical problems.
The conversation went on like this for at least ten minutes with the man painting an ever-increasingly horrifying picture of his life. He was becoming very emotional and the woman seemed to be growing more and more unsure of how to respond to him.
The bell rang and the bus pulled to a stop, opening its doors to let the passengers get off. The conversation between the man and woman was still going on but the woman was trying to politely excuse herself so she could get off the bus. Then it dawned on me that she didn't really know the man. They must have met at the bus stop waiting to catch the bus. "How strange," I thought, "for him to be discussing such personal matters with someone he doesn't know."
The woman managed to escape the conversation and the bus and the man found a free seat right behind me. The bus pulled away from the stop and I heard the man address the person in the seat next to him. "Can you believe the way people in the health care industry treat their patients?" I looked at my window to see if I could see the person's reflection in the dark glass. No luck. I'd have to settle for listening again. A woman's voice responded with some kind words for him. This started another round of stories about the man's problems and his treatment. The woman was very sympathetic and listened attentively, even offering encouragement when the man seemed very distraught. I couldn't help but find all this very funny. I was beginning to giggle in my seat. The man's stories sounded more and more dramatic and ridiculous all at the same time! After a few minutes the man had worked himself into a sort of emotional frenzy and was openly crying. The woman was trying desperately to comfort him without over-stepping her bounds. Finally the man burst out, "And you know what the worst part is? They won't even have the common decency to let you decide when your life should end. People in some big building somewhere decide how and when I should live my life! I mean, I could put myself out of all my misery, but I'm not allowed to. They won't help me heal myself and they won't let me kill myself! What is a person to do?!!! Seriously! It is such a travesty!"
The woman really didn't know how to handle this one at all. She floundered around looking for words to say. She tried to assure the man that killing himself probably wasn't the best answer, but the more she insisted the more emotional he became. By this time I was laughing so hard on the inside my sides hurt and I was trying so desperately not to show it. I didn't want to offend the man but I couldn't help but wonder why he was talking about these things with people on the bus! After a few more minutes the woman informed the man that she had to get off the bus but she was sure he would be alright and that things would get better. He sniffled and thanked her as she gathered her things and started towards the door. She kept looking back as though she was worried of what the man would do. He sat there with a very dejected look on his face muttering to himself about all his woes.
At the next stop the man pulled himself up from his seat and stood in the aisle for a moment. "Well," he said, "I guess I must keep on living until either I die or someone helps me out of my misery."
He then walked down the aisle, down the bus steps and onto the sidewalk. The bus pulled away and I looked at the man who was sitting across from me. We exchanged bewildered looks and sort of chuckled. He leaned across the aisle towards me and said, "That man needs to get some counseling."
"Yes," I agreed, "And not on the bus!"

A Sight to Behold

There he was, standing on the street corner as though he was the most normal person in the world. Having been taught that it was impolite to stare I tried several times to avert my gaze, but to no avail. I could not stop looking at this, this . . .I don't know what to call him. He was ridiculous, silly and bazaar all wrapped up in one person. He was tall and gangly with his long skinny legs poured into stone-washed bell-bottomed jeans that had bright pink lace and sequin patterns down the front of them. The jeans stopped midway between his calves and his ankles showing pink socks that disappeared inside light brown roller skates with baby pink wheels. He was wearing a fitted pink shirt and a brown jacket that hugged his torso and was half unzipped. His long, severely thin face was accentuated by bright blue 1950's style sunglasses and his long, dark hair was slicked back in a ponytail. He shuffled around on the corner, looking down at his feet and skating in circles as he waited for the light to turn green. His mannerisms were very much in the style of a junior high girl out for an afternoon romp. The man was a walking charade and I found myself wondering at why someone would feel the need to express themselves that way. I couldn't stop looking at him. The light finally turned green and as I started to pull forward the pink roller skater shoved off from the curb gliding across the crosswalk, swaying from side to side in what looked like an attempt to mimic the way girls swing their hips. I couldn't even laugh at the man. My only response was to shake my head in bewilderment and wonder why.