Stranger at the Bus Stop

I have been driving buses for 30+ years. This made me see things inside and outside the buses. We, the drivers notice things. Yet, we prefer to remain silent about them. But, there is one strange passenger that I want to talk about.

This young man comes to our bus station every evening at 7.45 P.M. and waits there for one hour. He never misses a day. He comes and stands in the right corner of the stop. Then he stares at one of the chairs behind me. Sometimes I look back to see who sits there. Most of the time there is no one sitting there. He stares at that chair with certain sentiment and enthusiasm. I do not recall when I noticed this guy but when I did I found it amusing to see where it all goes towards. I thought that he will reconcile with his other passenger soon. Though, hundreds of days later I understood that this story is more complicated. This stranger was not strange at all. He was clean. He was gentle. His eyes were charged with multiple emotions. Some of these emotions were displayed by many of my daily passengers. But some emotions were hard to understand. If you would stare at him you would almost hear him speak to this bus seat in between his lips.

I asked from the other drivers that take my shift about this stranger. They all noticed him and how he stared at the empty seat. He looked as if someone will appear there. Sometimes he looked at the sky and whispered something. We all are curious about this young lads fate. None of us has the courage to ask him about the issue. We drivers, wait for people to ask first usually. May be we need to ask first at times.

Jason, one of our drivers told us that he saw him once with a young lady. He escorted her to bus and stood outside until the bus moved. Jason thinks this lady is the one he is looking for. They had some tension between each other. She was gorgeous. Not the kind of person that would use public transportation. There was something fancy about her. I guess this young man had feelings for her. May be they never spoke about it. May be it was last time that they opened this topic. What we all know is, this lady is not coming to the bus stop anymore. One might guess that she found another way of commuting. Another way of living. Another man we all guess.

It is heart-wrecking to watch this man stand in there in rainy days. He comes when it snows. He stands there when heat is off the charts. He waits for her. We think that he waits for someone that will not return.

Though, we admire his level of hopelessness. We all want to wait for people at times. Ones that would make our lives complete. I lost my wife 5 years ago. She lost battle to cancer. Ever since losing her, I find refugee in my passengers. I hate being in my house. My shifts keep me going. My passengers give the sense of value. Their faces, their little dialogues keep me afloat. Driving them places on time and safely makes my day.

I find refugee in waiting with this stranger. It would be great to see him happy one day. It would be great to look back onto that chair and see that young lady sitting there. She would definitely smile at him. Or whisper something nice. (The way passengers do when one has to go and one has to stay outside the bus.) She would wave at him. He needs a damn wave for God’s sake. One God damn hand-wave. This is all it takes for a young heart to become tender again. I want to see them leave this bus stop hand-in-hand, staring at each other. Just like me and wife would do in our teenage years.

So, “you must go” says my lovely timer. I step on the pedal leaving this young man behind. Rear mirror shows his face looking at the bus. He is waiting for someone that will not return. He finds his act meaningful and he finds joy in simply standing here at bus stop waiting for next number 36 to come.

I look at other cars while driving. Couple of seconds are enough to feel the vibe of these drivers and people who sit in their cars. There are couples arguing inside them. Some yelling in awful ways. Some sitting with disturbing silence. Some looking at their children with pain of unspoken truth. None of them look at each other the way this young man looks at that empty seat.

Life is one hell of a drive I might add.