Baby on the Bus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 28, 2017

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Submitted: September 28, 2017

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 Fresh off of school and exhausted from the semester, I dragged my ass to the nearest bus stop on the side of a washed up Federal Boulevard to get back home. I made sure to stop at good ol Safeway on the way to pick up a yogurt parfait to hold me off till dinner time. Time stalled at the stop, the middle aged black lady across from me blew the smoke from a cig like she was trying to clear the air filled with tension between us. “You got the time young man?” She asked me with a raspy voice that sounded like the cigs she smoked hung on the ends of her vocal chords with each inhale. I was feeling nice that day so I looked down at my good ol Fossil watch from Grandpa Richard, and read the time from the aging hands. “3:30” I said curtly, trying to make as little eye contact as possible. God it was like she was draining the life out of me just sitting there. I was in the middle of popping open my snazzy parfait when the Bus creaked up in front of us. I hauled my ass inside, dropped off a dollar fifty, and made my way to sit down. The bus was filled to the brim, whiffs of nicotine and regret filled the rows and I just decided to grapple onto a standing bar. I thought it would be nice to get started on that yogurt parfait I’ve been so enthusiastic about the whole time, so I whipped that bad boy out of my backpack once more. Inches away from my first bite and the goddamn bus lurched forward like it was shoved from the back and I almost dropped the damn thing. Some bald middle aged man that looked like he coulda been named Fisher smirked at me at the sight of my accident. I didn’t know whether to feeling embarrassed or harassed at that moment.

 

Time crawled by and everyone on the bus hated each other's guts by now. Good ol Fisher was scratching the crusty skin on his bald head and kept smirking at me for god's sake. I was ready to just chuck my yogurt at the next person to stare at me the wrong way. Not like there was supposed to be a right way to stare at someone. I was just about ready to throw the damn yogurt at myself when we reached what seemed like the hundredth stop in the last half hour. Some people in the bus cleared and I was able to sit my happy ass down for a second. Then something interesting happened, a young Hispanic vato, looking about 25-30 made his way onto the death train, but he was holding in his vice grip a baby carriage. He brushed his way by good ol’ Fisher and sat down in the only other open seat right next to me. My luck. The look on his face resembled that of a human with a broken heart. As if he just heard some news that would change the course of his life forever. If anything it kind of matched the whole feeling of the bus, just great. I looked out the window to admire how pretty the snow was, flowing over the crappy dusty homes that patterned down Federal Boulevard, but when I turned back around I noticed the small baby in the carriage was staring at me.

The baby was about half a year old, had big brown eyes, and a cute toothless smile. I looked up and found that although the baby was staring at me, everyone on the bus was staring at the baby. What made it so interesting wasn’t that they were looking at the baby, it was how. By this time the father scooped the baby out of its carriage and was lifting him into the air. I was afraid he was going to kill the damn kid. But honestly, it was kind of sweet. You could see the pain in his face begin to dissipate and he had a slight grin on his face. I took a glance around and everyone else had the same look on their faces, even Fisher. It was almost as if they saw their younger self within the baby, unflawed and unharmed by the world around him. You could tell they hoped the baby wouldn’t grow up to be like them. I thought to myself, maybe they’ve simply never just seen a baby on a bus before? I always tend to overthink shit anyways. Maybe them seeing a baby is like when I see snowfall in the sunlight, rare. I thought again, what if instead the baby is more like sunlight in the snowfall? In a bus full of gloomy cold hearted people, the baby was the small ray of sunshine that lit up the aisles and brightened up everyone’s day. I arrived at my stop.

 

 

 


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