Bus Ride

It is still dark when I leave for work this morning. The bus shelter up the street glows like some sort of oasis in the night, beckoning me with its flourescent lure.

My friend Mark once posted this picture he took of a bus shelter in New York City and down one side of the shelter was a ground-to-roof advertising poster that said "What Do You Love?" That question stood out in the bleak urban landscape like a slap in the face. What do you love? What do you? What do? What?

I huddle in the cold bus shelter, alone, and think long and hard about that question. And then the bus comes.

Always interrupted. Always.

I settle into the warmth of the bus and stare out the window. Buses are not for thinking. Buses are for staring, watching, observing, daydreaming, fantasizing, holding your loved one's hand, making out in the back seat if you're fifteen, leering, talking, answering your cellphone. Buses are for many things, but not thinking.

This morning, I just stare. The sun starts to rise as we leave Kilbirnie. Wisps of silver and charcoal clouds suffused with candy floss pink and mauve against the clearest of early morning skies. I imagine myself with camera and tripod capturing those colours.

That is what I mostly do on the bus. I am constantly creating pictures, framing potential photographs in little rectangles in my mind. I make mental notes to myself to come back to a particular place with my camera... those brick steps leading up to the church, that bright red and yellow shop, those white daisies against that mustard garage door. I never do go back, but maybe one day I will.

And then we are in town, rolling along Courtenay Place. The Hummingbird sign is glowing pink in the reflected morning light. How do they do that, I always wonder. No lights on in the shops, too early. Except for Kenny's Cafe with its comforting neon green and blue sign over the greasy spoon eatery. And further up, the baristas doing their early morning thing in Starbucks, Expressaholic, Cue Coffee.

The city is still asleep.

As I near work, I always think about my boys, and wonder why I'm doing this, leaving my two boys behind and paying someone else to look after them. Sometimes I almost cry, it is almost a physical urge to turn around and run home to them.

But then it's my stop, and I get off the bus and go to work.

Nice. Very nice. Deb, you write like a great painter paints and the result is very pleasing.

Aww Deb, you want to be home with them. Too bad that we can't all be stay-at-home- moms when they are young. Kids need their parents, the guidance, the love, the care.

I have no doubt you do well for them when you can, and you have undoubtedly screened the care-taker as well as one can. *huggs*

hey mark, thank you :) i am always amazed when others like what i write

hi desiree, yeah our caregiver is fantastic. we are really fortunate in that respect. i think she takes better care of the kids than i do ;-) yep. would love to stay home with them. i might look at cutting back my hours at work in the future.

hauntingly human.