Letters to a Stranger #2
Dear Stranger on the Bus,
Let me start by saying I do not remember your name, or if you ever told it to me. I do remember the exact moment we met though. I had been traveling to Boston from a small city in Ohio that often felt more like a town. At sixteen years old, I had not been out of the state on my own yet. My only experiences traveling included a few flights to see my aunt in Florida, a trip to D.C. with my art teacher and mom, a car ride to New York City with my friend and her family, and a few one-off road trips someplace random. Having never been out of the state alone, I would describe myself as being on edge when we met, especially since my aunt filled my head with small things I could do to ensure my safety before I left. Rightfully so though because at the bus station in New York City, a random man approached me, attempting to hustle me for money at 3 in the morning.
After deterring the hustler (with much respect to him), I climbed onto my next and final Gray Hound, eyes heavy. Unlike all my other buses, this one had a person for every seat. Thinking I would get lucky with a set of empty ones, I threw my stuff in the aisle chair and crashed into the one next to the window. I watched as each person walked by, none of them wanting to park themselves next to the lone teenager who, clearly afraid someone would steal his bags, kept the straps of them around his ankle. Then your family of five came on. Asking their various questions at a normal volume while everyone else remained at a whisper level, the three children gave your whole family away before I could even see them. Quickly, we all learned that you had somewhat loud kids and that you all mainly spoke Spanish. I crossed my fingers for there to be enough space for your family to sit together and not next to me.
Before I knew it, your family had walked past me, filling in whatever remained, leaving you alone and my bag-filled chair the only seat left. You looked at my stuff, then me, making eye contact with a shy smile. Surprisingly, you even did a double take of the bus with your eyes, making sure you had no other option. Despite my discomforted mental plea to whoever, you didn’t have another option, so I stuffed my things under me and you sat down, leaving just enough space so our shoulders wouldn’t touch. I faked a smile once you settled, then stared out the window into the city darkness. Lights floated by until they turned into stars in the sky and we never said a word to one another. At some point, before the sun started to rise, one of your kids needed to use the bathroom, so you got up briefly and then returned, waking me up momentarily. As you quietly slipped back into your seat, we muttered our first words to each other. “I’m sorry,” you whispered with an accent. You did speak English, I thought to myself, and how dumb of me to assume you didn’t.
My heavy eyes looked over at you. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.” I knew having a kid who needed to use the bathroom while on a bus at 4 am had no one to blame, and it felt silly for a grown man to apologize to me, a teenager.
Then we returned to our found stasis: me, with my head against the cool window, and you, with your head always slightly turned towards the aisle. I wondered about why you were traveling, where you were coming from, and how your family ended up here. What waited for you in Boston? More family? Were you even heading to Boston, or did your route just require it? I had no reason not to ask these questions besides the hour and my discomfort. So, I didn’t. I stared out the window until I fell asleep.
I’m not sure if the rising sun or the gravel under the tire woke me up first, but I remember waking up with my face smooshed against the window and the sight of a singular rest station on an empty road. Your kids did not miss a beat; they filled the aisle to get off and stretch their legs faster than everyone else. You, and their mom, followed. So, I did too. I didn’t know how far we were from Boston, but I did know my legs were stiff from sitting. Removing my bag’s straps from around my ankles, I left it there in my seat. I still worried about a stranger stealing my stuff, but I felt somewhat safer with an adult’s things next to mine. You didn’t strike me as a thief, and I hoped that my aunt’s lessons on trusting strangers didn’t extend to you.
After taking care of using the bathroom and stretching my limbs, I had extra time before the bus reloaded its passengers to leave. I looked around, unsure about striking up a conversation with someone, and spotted you. Smoking a cigarette the required distance from the bus and overlooking the empty land covered in sunlight, you stood away from your family while they played together. Having grown up in a chain-smoker household, I knew the smoke break ritual, especially when it pertained to family. I joined you without saying a word and without something to smoke. Your smoke wafted towards me, which I hated because the smell of a burning cigarette disgusted me. I’m not sure why I stood there with you; maybe the familiarity of it, maybe the company, or maybe I wanted to feel like you weren’t a stranger. Staying on guard, even while asleep, felt more exhausting than believing in the goodness of people.
The bus loaded back up. The driver restarted the engine. We were on our way again. Next stop: Boston. Like any teenager on a grueling road trip, which is any bus ride that is 24 hours, I fell back asleep pretty quickly. The sound of the bus pulling off soon became the same as a rainy Sunday; perfect for napping. But, one bump too many, I woke up to the pain of a shoulder hitting my temple. Confused, I opened my eyes groggily and very quickly realized that at some point during my nap I started using your shoulder as a pillow. I shot up, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I didn’t dare look over at you as I repositioned myself back against the window.
“You’re okay. You don’t have to apologize,” you whispered back. I glanced over at you. “My kids do it all the time.” You smiled while saying that as if it truly did not matter. I nodded in response, fully awake now.
Not long after, the city of Boston slowly emerged. Unlike Pittsburg, which isn’t there until you go through a tunnel and then BAM it’s there, we crept into the city, building after building creating the landscape until one high-way exit led to the bus station. I tried to study the city on the way in, but couldn’t make out much from the highway. Once at the bus station, we unloaded our luggage from under the bus one by one. After I hauled my suitcase onto the sidewalk, I glanced over at you again, accidentally making eye contact. You grinned, nodded at me, and waved goodbye, turning back to your family.
The rest of my trip to Boston included a lot of firsts for me: seeing a college campus, staying in a dorm, and taking acting classes. I met lots of people, including my roommate who became a very close friend of mine. However, to some degree, had my memory of traveling to Boston only included a stranger attempting to hustle me for money in NYC, I don’t think I would have been so open and honest with folks at my training program. I had always maintained a layer of protection due to my lack of faith in people’s ability to be genuinely good. But you, Stranger on the Bus, showed me the alternative with the smallest gestures. Thank you for that.
Sincerely,
KM
