Oct. 20th, 2004

Le autobus

I love mornings like this one today. The air is biting and the wind is blowing and the hum of leaf-blowers seem to haunt us. The air was so startling, smacked me right in the face when I opened the door as I left for work. I could see my breath as it cut through the cold, it seemed to hold its shape, frozen momentarily and then floated away. The birds were floating on the breeze, swooping with each strong gust that blew through the trees and buildings; the wind threatening to pick you up off your feet and bring you along on its journey. Over the skyline, with lights from the buidlings and cars still luminous, the clouds split apart to reveal the appropriately cold blue. I got off the train and waited at the bus-stop. My friend Erin soon joined me and then we were the object of stares as we described odd dreams of mashed potatoes the night before. I am thankful for her odd 'mashed' dreams... they make my own feel somewhat sane, if there is such a thing as sanity ( which I question everyday the more people I meet). We talked about running and getting older and the boys that never cease to stare at us every morning as we wait for our ride. We discussed motorbikes and unicorns, vaseline and paperwork that sat there waiting for us to complete it. John came on our bus with coffee~ once again, none for us. If you come with coffee...you must bring some for all - there is nothing worse than catching a bus jammed full of grumpy people who are upset they have to stand and there is no arm room to spread out their huge financial newspapers, and bringing with your extra body a cup full of aromatic java. You are literally asking for your death sentence. At least, that's how me and Erin see it. Erin starts to nod off....I listen to Natalie Merchant and observe my surroundings. I catch the 'not-so-discreet-over-the-shoulder-lookers' who gaze at the reading materials of the guy sitting beside them; I notice the guy finally catch on, and grumble and pretend to shift his body as he brings his paper closer towards him, shutting the shoulder-gazer off and leaving him no other choice but to read the bus advertisements, that no doubt he has probably read every morning this past week. Over my own music, I can hear that of someone else positioned somewhere towards the back, it's loud and I see the unapproving faces, as though their ears have been violated and subjected to the heavy bass of hip-hop. I turn my volume down a notch, just in case.
The bus empties out...fills up briefly once more and once again, it is empty. Perfect.
My stop is nearing and I dread the mornings where I have to push through people who are absorbed in their books, their songs so loud they can't hear my apology 'but could you just move an inch', the people who try so hard not to spill their coffee or the girls who are so wrapped up in conversations about random dreams, work and boys with fixed eyes. The doors open and once again I am bitten by cold, my nose snatched away by Jack Frost.....and there he is: The leaf-blower...looking cranky as ever, once again blowing the same leaves he attacked just yesterday.

life and its comings and goings.