BUS STORY # 211 (The Strike-Out Artist)

I Ride . . . 2, originally uploaded by busboy4.

We’re up on the platform, sitting across from one another on the bench seats facing the aisle. He keeps sneaking looks at the woman sitting in the seat in the last row, directly in line with him. 

She’s got her feet up on the rail and is looking out the window. He’s a big, meaty guy with a shaved head and wearing a red golf visor, backwards. Gray tank top, baggy shorts, brown sandals. Tattoo on his right calf. 

She’s a pretty meaty gal herself. Shoulder-length black hair, plucked and penciled eyebrows, red, red lips. Black tank top, blue jeans, and those high-heeled platform sandals. She’s got a tattoo just above her abundant right breast. She’s not exactly spilling out of her tank top. It’s more like a grocery bag with a spray of greens pouring out the top. You can’t help but know there’s a bunch of carrots down in there. 

She's holding one of those smartphones that are competing with iPods for rider share these days. He risks a longer look. She keeps looking out the window. Finally, he asks her name. 

“Anna”* she replies without any enthusiasm. 

He nods his head, waits a minute.

“I’m Mike.”* 

She nods, looks back out the window. He looks down at his sandals for a while. Then: “Just get off work?” And adds quickly, “You work at McDonalds?” 

She shakes her head no. Her phone rings, and she answers it. A conversation ensues. He’s staring at his sandals again, frowning. Bad timing, that call. He looks over to his right. A young, slim woman with two small children on either side of her is sitting quietly. Black hair down past her shoulders. Simple brown scoop neck T-shirt with blue jeans and flat-heeled shoes. 

Mike says something her way. The children look over at him, but she doesn’t give any indication she’s heard him. He tries again, louder this time. She looks over at him. Her reply is polite, but her face says she really isn’t interested in having a conversation with him. She looks away when she’s finished answering. 

He asks the little girl nearest him how old she is. She tells him and he asks about her sister. The woman looks down at her daughter who is enjoying this conversation, then over at him. She is clearly annoyed and at a loss at how to deal with this. He makes the mistake of re-engaging mom and she shuts him down in a way that he understands. He hangs his head, and I feel a little sorry for the poor guy. 

But when he looks left again, the first girl is off her phone. Hope surely springs eternal because he restarts a conversation. Her phone rings again, and that’s the end of that. He gets off the bus shortly afterwards, but not before waving to phone girl. She waves back.

When the back door closes, she puts the phone back down in her lap, no goodbye or anything else. It takes a minute to register. The next day, I email my daughter and ask if she can make her iPhone ring when she wants it to. She replies she has no idea. But I do.

 __________ 

 *Real name changed.