Line 217

LINE 217

Los Angeles Metro line 217 runs on Fairfax Avenue from Hollywood and Vine all the way to La Cienega and Washington Boulevard approximately every 12 minutes starting at 4 a.m. until around 2 a.m. It's one of the first bus lines to service the Greater Los Angeles area, and for the last fifty years, it has been my principal mode of transport from my humble apartment on near the Farmer's Market on 3rd Street to my job as an usher for the once famous, eventually infamous Vine Theater at the end of the line.

My name is Simon Finkelstein, and although my family goes all the way back to the old country, where they had to leave Europe to avoid the trains to Auschwitz, and they moved into our little apartment in the most Jewish neighborhood in the city of Angels with little more than the clothes on their back and their skill as cobblers, they managed not only to buy their little apartment where I was born in 1946, but, eventually, the whole building.

I'm retired. I'm an old fart, actually. Three wives, three children all by different women, a long career that left me pretty much with less money than what my parents left me, but all in all, a good life, a life full of love, and good memories, and not too many regrets.

I have seen the world change around me, not necessarily for the best. But now that I am closer to the end than to the beginning of my story, I look back at all of it with more than a little hope for our species. We're not all that bad. Look! We have even made machines smarter than us, and for some reason, these machines have not decided to kill us...

I guess you could say I am an optimist.

So, I never really liked driving. It was much too stressful. Oh, I owned a couple of cars, always the same: Ford Mustangs. In 1965, the first Mustangs came out, and since I had just gotten my first job, I decided to take the plunge and buy one, thinking I would have more success with the girls.

Then in 1980, my car was smashed to smithereens by a drunk driver, and I got a new model. Finally, in 2012, thinking the Mayan Calendar end of the world was for real, I went a little crazy and sold my car to go off to the Bahamas after divorcing my second wife, who didn't believe a word of it. When the world didn't end, I decided to buy my last car: a red, 2012 Ford Mustang Convertible.

I loved that car. Until my lack of attention and absolute stupidity cost the life of Rihanna, a lovely little black girl going back home from school, who didn't look carefully enough while crossing Sunset Boulevard, chasing after her ball. I was going just ten miles over the speed limit, but that was enough for me not to be able to stop the car in time to save her life.

My insurance paid all the funeral fees, and I was not charged with any crime. The accident wasn't my fault, but that didn't matter. I decided that would be the last time I would ever drive a car. I sold my Mustang and gave the money to her parents after the funeral. They didn't thank me, but it was the least I could do for them.

That's when I found line 217. I had always made fun of folks who use the bus to go to work. I thought only poor people and junkies rode the bus.

Boy, I was wrong. Riding the bus gave me a new lease of life. I had already gone through my third divorce, and I had become an angry, lonely man. I didn't go out much, and I didn't like to meet new people. I was a hermit, not really caring about anyone or anything other than my television, which was both my drug and my best friend, numbing me to sleep every night. My ex-wives and my children had all abandoned me after all. I had nobody and that was how I thought the world should be.

But after about a month of riding the bus, I began to meet new people of all kinds. The first person I met was Justin, the driver. At 300 lbs, Justin didn't seem much more than another obese African American with a government job to me. I'm not really that racist, since I'm Jewish, but I never really cared for black men. I found them intimidating.

Until I began to speak to Justin. Somehow, the fact that he always picked me up at the same time in the same place, month after month, made me curious about him, and eventually I asked him his name.

This led to a long conversation about race, prejudice, and human nature that left me so amazed, so pleasently surprised, so intrigued, that I decided to invite Justin to eat at the Farmers Market. This invitation turned into a friendship that ended in 2020, during the pandemic. Overweight, older gentlemen didn't fare well with COVID-19, and Justin was no exception. The curious thing about his funeral was that there was very few people there. And none of them were related to Justin, only a handful of friends, like me. I had lost my best friend, but not line 217.

I met more people on the bus: Jessica McLean, a wannabe star who did a few stints in 1980s TV Shows and then realized she had gone over a certain age limit for the numerous casting calls that she lived for. She tried suicide a couple of times. She called me during one of those, and I saved her.

Then there was Paco Gomez, an absolutely terrifying, tattooed teen who had gotten on Venice Boulevard and Fairfax once, and he was crying. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me, sobbing, that his best friend had just been murdered during a drug-deal gone sour. We got off at Johnny's on Wilshire Boulevard and I got him a cup of coffee. He ended up doing all the maintenance on my building.

Christi Bell came to Hollywood looking to become a movie star and ended up doing porno to survive. Somehow, I also managed to start a conversation with her on the 217, and I managed to get her to tell me that she too wanted to kill herself. I also took her to Johnny's on Wilshire. One cup of coffee and a nice plate of flapjacks later, I had her promising me to call her parents back in Ohio.

Yea, 217 changed my life. I realized that the secret of life was to do good for people. The more good you do, the better you feel about yourself, and now, at 89 years of age, I can honestly say I have really learned the secret of life. It's in the Bible. And in the Koran. And in the Torah, and all the other sacred books and sayings of saints and Masters. It's called the golden rule: Do unto others... Yeah, it's that simple.

So you imagine my surprise when, after having breakfast at Johnny's on Wilshire, I got on the 217 to see my long-lost friend Justin behind the wheel. I've always liked an early breakfast, so I wasn't too puzzled by the fact that the only people on the bus were Justin and I. But Justin?

"Justin?" I asked, delighted, but very confused.

"Hey buddy. Long time..." he replied, smiling.

"Yeah, you cold say that..." I was seriously puzzled.

I had been to his funeral.

"How have you been, Simon?"

"Okay, I guess. I missed you. I... I went to your funeral, Justin."

"Yeah, I know. I saw you there, thanks for the flowers." He smiled again.

"Justin, you're dead. Why are you driving the bus if you are dead?" I was a little worried now.

"Why do you think, Simon?" he stopped smiling, and I saw a tear come out of his eye.

"Am I dead too?"

"Yeah, sorry about that, buddy." He sighed.

I had to sit down. When had I died? I ... remember having scrambled eggs and toast. And a cup of decaf. I couldn't have caffeinated coffee anymore. I missed the caffeinated coffee, but my doctor had advised me to drink decaf six years previous, and I always did what the doctor ordered.

"You died during breakfast. The waitress messed up and gave you regular coffee. Your heart couldn't take it. I'm sorry, buddy."

"Oh. How silly. What a silly way to die." I sighed. "So, what now, Justin?"

"Oh, we have a few other stops. But it's a beautiful day, enjoy the breeze. I'm happy to see you again, Simon."

"I am happy to see you too, Justin."

I looked out the window and noticed that things had changed. The buildings were a little different. The people also had changed, their clothing, their hair styles. I couldn't really recognize the style.

We stopped by the Farmer's Market. But it was utterly irreconcilable. First of all, there were no cars, only strange levitating devices. And the buildings were very different, also, weird animals and plants were abundant where once there had been a parking lot. It looked like some kind of psychedelic petting zoo with weird hybrid beasts and children playing together.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Oh, it's the Farmer's Market." Justin said.

"Can't be. This place looks like a futuristic park." I said...

But then I looked on the other side of the bus and saw that the old supermarket Greens was still there, where it should be, except it too looked quite remodeled.

"Oh... That's the supermarket."

"Yeah. And here comes our next passenger."

An old latino man, full of tattoos, wearing a kind of spandex suit got on the bus.

"Hey! Simon!" he greeted me.

"Do I know you?"

"It's me, Paco!" he smiled.

"Paco?..." I looked at his tattoos.

Yeah, they were Paco's tattoos, but the man in front of me was at least my own age.

"Paco, is it really you?"

"Yeah. I just died, just like you," he almost laughed.

"You look awfully happy to have died," I remarked.

"Simon, I'm almost 340 years old. I was tired. I needed to rest." he laughed.

"You don't look a year over 75!" I lied.

"I was only 22 the last time I spoke with you, Simon, and that was in 2026, the year you died. So ... This is the year 2366. Things have changed quite a bit in Los Angeles." Paco was unnaturally cheery for a dead man.

"We went through some rough times, things got a whole lot worse before they got better." He explained. "But don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to catch up."

"Of course." I shook my head.

Death was turning out to be quite strange. Not at all what I expected.

I looked out the window again. We were nearing Melrose Avenue. But there were no more hovering bicycles, only regular looking cars. The world was back to normal. We were back in my timeline... Or so I thought. The bus stopped and Justin used the handicapped entrance to help an old lady in a wheelchair. It was Jessica, but she looked extremely old.

"Jessica?"

"Oh, hi, Simon, it's you. I was waiting for the bus... But.. But I thought you were dead. You died last year, didn't you? Having breakfast at Johnny's." She said.

"I am... I... did die." I said.

"I wanted to go to your funeral, Simon, but there was just no way. My health is not so good.." She looked sad.

"Maybe I can help you with that." Said Justin.

"Oh? Who are you, young man?"

"I am the bus driver. I work for the L.A. Metro. Can I try to help you get up?"

"Oh, sure, but it won't do any good," Jessica said.

Justin got up and went to her. He grabbed her arms and pulled her out of the wheelchair.

"Just use your legs. Stand up, please."

She did, and suddenly, she was no longer an old woman, but a beautiful young woman that I had never seen before. A real movie star. She looked at herself on the reflection of the window. She smiled.

"Oh my! That's much better, thanks!" She laughed.

"Please have a seat. We have a couple more stops." Justin said and got back behind the wheel, starting the bus once again.

"I'm such a terrible person. We're dead, aren't we, Simon?"

"Yeah, I think we are." I acknowledged.

"You know, I got to be almost 100 years old. And you know why, Simon?"

"Why?"

"Because you saved me from myself that day, so long ago. It's so good to see you here, on the other side."

"It's good to see you, too, Jessica."

The bus stopped once again, this time on Santa Monica Boulevard. Christi Bell got on. But something was wrong: she was exactly the same age as when I had met her last. Not a day over 19 years old. And she didn't greet any of us. Her face was vacant. Dead.

"Christi?" I asked.

"She can't see you, Simon. She committed suicide, so she doesn't know she's dead. It's a kind of purgatory. She repeats her own suicide over and over. It's sad."

"Oh." I said, crestfallen. "Is there nothing we can do for her?"

"Every soul must find its own way, Simon. Perhaps some day, she will too." Justin looked sad, too.

The sadness of seeing Christi in such a bad way made me go deep into a space that I wasn't entirely happy to be in. Where was Justin taking us? Why were we being gathered up like so many condemned Jews on the train to Auschwitz and te final solution?

"Sunset Boulevard." Announced Justin.

I looked outside. We were back on the 80s. I could tell because of the silly clothes, a big billboard for ROCKY, and the gas-guzzling cars.

My heart stopped when I saw little Rihanna get on the bus. And of course, she grabbed her little ball firmly in her hands. She chose to sit right next to me.

"Hi, Mr. Finkelstein."

"Oh, my God. I am so sorry...!" I broke out sobbing. I couldn't get my breath. I now realized this was hell, and I was going to pay for my crime.

"Don't worry, Mr. Finkelstein. It was an accident. I shouldn't have run after my ball. It wasn't your fault. I forgive you." she put her tiny little hand on my shoulder and hugged me.

I cried for an eternity. Until Justin called out.

"Last stop! Hollywood and Vine!" And the bus stopped running.

One by one, the passengers got out until only I was left. I went to the door and saw my mother and father just the way I remembered them last, waiting for me at the bus stop.

"What now, Justin?" I asked nervously.

"Well, you decide." He smiled. "This is the end of the road."

THE END.