A Bus Ride

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday, both in reality and in the bar that Billy is singing about in my earbuds. Mine is nine o’clock a.m., but close enough, and I appreciate Bill’s comradery as I pick my way down the center aisle of a tour bus and settle into a seat near the rear emergency exit door. I live in this city and have seen these big red buses making their lazy circuits around the city’s downtown many times, but I have never had a reason to ride one before now.

What brings me to this bus, you ask? Doctor’s orders, delivered with a smile and an irritatingly positive choice of words by my online therapist. A change of scenery and routine is a fantastic action step and, I am sure, the anecdote to the monotony and general bleakness of my life. Like it did for so many others, the grey veil of depression settled over me slowly during the pandemic as I stayed safely holed-up in my little apartment that perches on the third floor of an old warehouse building, just above a laundromat and corner bodega. And for a while, I was perfectly content there, keeping company with the daylight that pours through the windows each afternoon, the row of potted plants that adorn the ledge above my sink, and the array of colorful pillows and blankets that liven up the otherwise industrial-looking space. These comforts blunted my reality for so long that it was jarring to realize I had slowly morphed into someone else, someone a little less vibrant and a little more fearful of new people and new things. Not a stranger to myself, not really, but a person who has somehow gotten out of sync with the rest of the world. So, my therapist suggested the bus.

For the first half hour, things are quiet in my little corner. Not literally quiet, because the exuberant retiree who is conducting this tour has launched into a monologue about the city’s historical landmarks, followed by all the baseball facts you could ever want as we pass by the city’s stadium. That changes when a group of five boards the bus: an older man and woman who look to be in their early sixties, a 30-something couple, and another adult woman wearing a brown suede jacket and tortoiseshell sunglasses. They sit down across the row in front of me, taking up the seats on either side of the aisle and settle in, with the older woman identifying one vacant seat in their row as the “purse and coat chair” before settling into her seat with her purse positioned squarely on her lap.

“Mom, this is the restaurant where we have a reservation tonight,” tortoiseshell sunglasses says as she gestures out the window towards an upscale tapas restaurant with big glass windows dominating the front façade and “The Katherine” painted in gold filigree on the center pane. Beyond the front windows, I catch a glimpse of mid-century modern-style light fixtures that look like brass starbursts with frosted white globes at each end. The bus sputters back to life as our stoplight turns green as the daughter continues to talk about the menu, which she has already reviewed and determined what she plans to order.

Meanwhile, the older man, who I am pretty confident at this point is someone’s dad and Mom’s husband, has tuned out the tapas discussion and is unfolding a handful of brochures. One contains a map of the city and the tour bus route, and he is rotating the map in a slow, clockwise circle to get his bearings. Once we are oriented, he sits in silence for a while before announcing to the row that the building that we are passing now is the city library, known for being a stunning example of Beaux-Arts architecture. I catch a slight scowl pass across the face of our tour guide at being beaten to the Beaux-Arts punch, and I imagine him standing up and walking slowly down the center aisle of the bus, thumbs hooked onto his beltloops like an old Western gunslinger, to inform this man that the town isn’t big enough for both of us and our fun facts. Instead, the tour guide gives a small nod of approval and continues on speaking.

At this point, I decide to focus my attention on the two remaining family members, who I’ve mentally dubbed the lovebirds. The lovebirds sit very close to one another, their sides practically velcroed together. Now and then, the girl rests her head on the man’s shoulder, and I can’t help but notice that they have almost the exact same hair from behind—long and brown with a slight wave. When they canoodle, the hair seems to merge into one big, wide hair curtain.  All of a sudden, our female lovebird jolts upright and points out the bus window. “See the bar on this corner? This is one of the venues where Turner’s band plays!” I subtly follow her finger with my gaze to a hole-in-the-wall bar that is plastered with colorful paper flyers, presumably announcing bands that would be playing there. I glance back at the group to see my male lovebird—Turner—bobbing his head in agreement and lady bird giving him a big, proud smile. “The last time Pullout Couch—that’s my band—played there it was pretty rad,” Turner tells the whole back of the bus in a voice that’s two or three notches too loud. I wonder to myself if he has hearing loss from his rad band, or if he just wants to make sure that none of us leave this bus unaware that we were briefly in the presence of a very cool guy.  

“I’m pretty sure that’s a spot that I’ve heard about on one of my true crime podcasts,” tortoiseshell sunglasses says, “like no joke. Sophie, you should be careful, I think people get snatched from around there. Just, like, poof! Remind me to tell you the story at dinner, it’s wild. This college girl walked out of a bar and was never seen again. They think maybe it was a serial killer, but I always like to think that people who disappear like that are out there somewhere, you know, with a new name and living some brand-new life on a beach or something.” Tortoiseshell sunglasses is smiling at this thought, but if looks could kill, the one Sophie just gave her would have been fatal. “I don’t have to worry about that, Anna, because I have Turner. And guess what. I was going to tell you all this at dinner, but…” Sophie says, as she stands up and turns to face the group with a flourish, “me and Turner got married!”

You know how they say that timing is everything? Well, it became very apparent very quickly that Sophie had picked the worst possible time to drop this bombshell. The worst possible time for everyone, that is, except me. When I boarded this bus, my hands were a little clammy and I worried that someone would recognize me and try to strike up a conversation. Or maybe I would stick out like a sore thumb for just riding the bus all day, and someone would kindly but firmly ask me to leave. But this drama was more than I could have hoped for, and if I was on their radar at all, I quickly faded into the background as the chaos ensued. I fight the urge to lean forward in my seat as I listen.  

Sophie is still standing, now brandishing her left hand in a wide circle. Dad lowers his map to his lap and begins to refold it, slowly and carefully. Mom misses a beat, but then loudly says, “Sophie! You are always one to surprise us! That’s wonderful! Very… wonderful.” She looks earnestly around the group, wide-eyed, nodding slightly as if to communicate to the others that they should follow her lead. If Anna got the message, she pointedly ignored it. “Are you joking? You’re joking, right?”

“Why would we be joking?” Sophie asks, her face a very confusing mixture of deflated, way too smiley and super pissed. “I know it hasn’t been that long, but we are in love!”

“Everyone is in love when they have only been together for three months!” Anna counters back. Oh yes, this is getting good.

“When you know, you know! And the wedding was wonderful. It was just a really beautiful experience.” Sophie turns back around and flops back into her seat with a pout. Turner, it seems, is not going to be any assistance. I can only see the side of his profile and a decent amount of it is obscured by the hair curtain, but he is smiling with a very large, very unhelpful smile. “Dad, what do you think?” Sophie asks.

“I am, well, I am happy if you are happy, sweetie. I guess I would have just liked to be there.” This was not the unconditionally positive review Sophie was looking for in response to her big announcement, and she sits back further into her seat and looks pointedly out the window.

 Now, I am not part of this family, but that doesn’t exempt me from the uncomfortable silence that follows the exchange. My helpful therapist would be thrilled by this real, lived experience, where I can practice putting this cringey feeling into perspective, and acknowledge that I am not personally responsible for the awkwardness that now seems to be consuming this bus. Our tour guide, at least, is undeterred. “Ronald Reagan was a lifeguard and saved seventy-seven people from drowning!” Which is admittedly a lot of people, but the family doesn’t register this new information; instead, they have fallen into a chilly silence with Sophie still gazing sullenly out the window, Anna typing on her phone, and the others sitting with various versions of strained smiles on their faces.

We stay like that for a long time, there in the silence. No one moves from their spots, at first, and I wonder if they are playing a slow-motion game of chicken, with no one wanting to be the first to make a concession. Eventually, however, I see Anna put her phone back into her purse, take a deep breath, and stand to move closer to Sophie. Anna takes the seat directly in front of Sophie and twists around to look in her direction. Anna reaches out her hand and touches Sophies shoulder as she says, “Look, I’m happy for you guys. I want you to be happy.” She waits a beat for Sophie to react, which takes an uncomfortable beat, but finally Sophie shifts, appearing to soften, and says, “Thanks Annie.” The two give each other a hug, and Anna returns to her seat.

Dad pipes up just then, clearing his throat to get their attention before saying, “The art museum is the next stop, and Anna had thought that would be a good activity for the morning.” Mom nods brightly and begins re-distributing the purses and coats from their designated chair. When the bus comes to its next stop, the group stands to leave, and I feel a tug of something—I am sad to see them go. And we have unfinished business!

I watch them exit the bus and stand on the sidewalk for a beat, checking to make sure that all purses, coats, and sunglasses are accounted for while Dad turns in a circle, looking up at the surrounding buildings before pointing northward, in the direction of the art museum. He drops his hand, and turns to Turner, who is standing nearby on the sidewalk. Dad turns and extends his hand, and they shake hands. I can’t tell if they are saying anything, because the bus has shifted back into gear and is pulling away from the stop. I watch out the back windows of the bus as they begin to walk away, shrinking from view as the bus ambles down the road in the opposite direction.

I ride on for one more stop before standing and exiting the bus as well. This is not the closest stop to my apartment, but it’s well within walking distance and the sun has broken out from behind the morning cloud cover. I set off in the direction of my apartment, and for the first time in a long time, I look around and appreciate the bustle of the streets and sidewalks as I make my way home. People in groups, people on their own, people headed somewhere in a hurry and people taking their time. Now, I wonder about these people; do they have stories unfolding in real-time, just like Anna and Sophie’s family? They must, I think. We all must, to some degree or another.

And by the time I arrive home at my little apartment, I feel a nearly imperceptible shift. My life might be challenging sometimes, but my ride on the bus helped me to see that everyone does. The people that I see on the sidewalks outside of my little apartment aren’t neat characters living out their neat storyline, as I sometimes like to think they are. They are messy and dramatic, but are also forgiving, like Anna’s hug and Dad’s offer of a handshake to Turner. Does that mean everyone in that family left the bus feeling fine? Probably not. But they were trying, just like I am. And with that, the bus has left me feeling just a little bit more in-step with the world.