January, 5:29 pm
I took the bus downtown last night to meet my husband. His car was parked in the garage and I was excited about the opportunity to ride the bus. As soon as I boarded, I was greeted by the smell of fresh, oily, french fries. The two girls sitting a few rows over and behind me were eating them and talking non-stop. I wanted to eavesdrop on their animated conversation. The chatter never seemed to end. Unfortunately, they were speaking in a language that was unfamiliar to me.
The first stop was only a few short blocks from the spot where I came aboard. A guy with very ruddy looking skin and longish hair got on and sat across the aisle from me. I think he looked straight ahead for the entire trip. We were traveling rather slowly, in part due to the snow covered roads and also because it seemed as if the driver was in no particular hurry.
As people got on and off, I daydreamed about riding the train in Washington, DC and New York. I read newspapers and books and sometimes even slept. Those days seemed almost restful, since I didn’t have to deal with the traffic and could just unwind. It seems so long ago.
I was jolted back to reality by the woman sitting behind me. She was cursing under her breath about how slowly we were moving and how long we stopped to let people on and off. I felt as if she might scream when a guy was about to get off, reached for a copy of the bus schedule and fell on the floor. He couldn’t have moved fast enough for her.
We were finally approaching downtown at around 5:50 pm. At one stop in front of a theatre where Cinderella was playing, a bunch of people got on. Then, just as the driver was about to close the door, someone else knocked on the glass wanting to hop on. I would say this happened five or six times.
Finally, I recognized the neon lights of my favorite parking lot. Just as I reached up to ring the bell, it rang. Someone else rang it! I walked up front, thanked the driver, who grunted something back at me and got off.
As I walked the few blocks to my final destination, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I journeyed out on my own, traveling on a bus. I hadn’t done that in a long time. My mind was clear, my thoughts restful and I felt free. It was a nice change from loading kids in and out of the car, dealing with traffic and being in a hurry. I wondered where people were going. Where did they work? Were they regulars on the bus?
I found my husband with his friends at the bar. He gave me a warm kiss and asked, "How was your trip?" I told him it was great, I wish I could do it everyday. He looked at me skeptically.
February, 6:15 am
The taxi picked me up at 6:15 am. A light fog was hovering over the harbor. Seagulls were loudly soaring above us. The water looked like glass, flat and reflective. The reflection was that of all which is good.
When I arrived at the train station, I bought a cup of coffee for 86 cents. There is nothing like a bargain and a perfectly prepared cup of coffee to start the day. I have a giddy feeling as I walk over to Track B. The cool, fresh morning air feels exhilarating. There is a sort of peace here. I feel as though I am one of them as I wait for the train on the billboard-covered platform.
As the sun shines in the window, I notice the commuters dressed more casually than fourteen years ago. The ride is peaceful, like a library on wheels. Do I look like a mom out on a daily pass? Can I impersonate a commuter? In Westbury, there is graffiti on the industrial buildings which looks like a blurred rainbow as we speed by. I think back to my commute with my old friend Chris. Talking, reading the New York Times, handing Chris a wet wipe to clean the ink off his hands. On the way home, we sipped our ice- cold beers out of paper bags and talked about the Mets. I don’t think we ever thought our lives would be any different.
As we arrive in Penn Station, I follow the others who jockey for a "good" position by the doors that line up with the escalator. I can still push and shove with the best of them. Would another mom do this?
