bus stop

This morning was especially memorable. It felt like my shoes had gotten wet. The air was crisp and a slight breeze cut slow and mean through the fabric of my soul. The thin layer of warmth was dirty and I knew I had to get up and stamp my feet to get circulation going again through my feet. I had stepped into a drift of snow that allowed snow to get through the cuff of my pant legs. The snow wedged itself between my boot and the side of my ankle. It then melted making it's way half way down my sock before stopping, and the air was cold making my ankles itch and burn at the same time. I was tired, hungry and just a bit angry at the world and the situation at hand. If I had a couch left to go to, I would collapse into it. I would gaze at the ceiling and revel in my warmth and solitude. Somewhere right now someone was doing just that, maybe they had a hot cup of spicy cider that was sending a waft of steam and aroma into the air. Maybe they had their clean jet white socks propped up on the end of the couch and with one hand on hot porcelain, they were absent mindedly flicking from channel to channel on their t.v.
I watched tiny snow flakes bob and weave on the cold thermals making their way down to us here on the mud streaked sidewalk. White bits of paper torn into little pieces and dropped from a balcony down past a fan and onto a stage where a tragedy was playing out. They rested some on my face, quickly melting, their journey ending and tickling my face. I wondered how far they had come, and did they have a concept of time and space as they fell. Lazy journey watching the world get bigger and bigger as it tried to find a place to rest. I just wanted to be a snowflake from it's conception. Every-time a gust burst across my path I would be shot across an immense universe.
It felt like the wind was slow and deliberate, I watched travelers on the sidewalk with their faces tucked down into their shoulders walking fast with purpose. On the way to work. On the way to meet someone. On the way to eat. Sometimes I would ask for change, other times just asking for the time. I had no reason to know what time it was, but I had every reason to be acknowledged. Brief as it may be, I had been ignored so many times before. I stomp my feet and try to believe it is helping. I start to walk past the shops and bars. Each of them inviting and damning me at the same time. I keep my eyes on the sidewalk in front of me, thankful for the weather this time and this time only as I now have a reason to make no eye contact with anyone.
A bus stop. Empty and surrounded by glass on three sides. Shelter and that's what I need now. I retreat to one corner of it that cuts the wind a little but it still comes in bursts from various angles cruel and inescapable but for moments. I draw a breath and wonder if the lump in my throat is from this injustice or the other one. The tears are from the cold wind I tell myself. The window panes of glass have frost on them and there are smudges that have been wiped away for passengers in the cubicle to see the street. Sloppy clouded over windows to the road waiting to display the arrival of a bus. Slush from the road is muddy and has splashed the bottom portion of the bus stop glass and frozen as it slid down. Just the dirt mind you, creating an collage of splats. Don't they do that with paint on canvas and call it art? I wipe away one of the already smudges. I watch big trucks and sedans make their way through the streets of downtown Anchorage. The cabs are warm and the radios are telling the passengers about road conditions, weather, news, songs. Some of the windshield wipers are flicking away. Hardly a flurry of snow and they work the wipers. Someone has made a smily face on the window in my sanctuary, I wipe it away with mild annoyance. Lucky I didn't spit on it! Not a great morning and don't recall the last good one I had.
I hear the bus before I see it. I am in a different world, back at home and I have my feet up again. Here it comes, I wish I had somewhere to go! If I did I chuckle, I don't have the bus fare. That panicked me. The driver was going to stop, and why not? I was standing in the bus stop. It was interruption at its finest. The bus wheels grinding and crunching the snow in hollow rapid thumps as it came to a stop. The hydraulics sounded like they were pumping steam. My god was this a freakish snow train or a bus. It didn't matter. The door swung open. I stood there. I wanted to say something. The bus driver seemed so high up in his seat as if he was looking down on me from an Aztec pyramid. The light from the interior domes was the beating sun in a lush jungle sun wicked and hot. I had a thousand sentences and explanations cast into my mind and it oscillated violently into a certain nothingness. He stares at me forever, like the snow stopped it's journey and held fixed in grey amber. Why nothing? I watch his lips tighten. He does half a head shake, quick and almost undetectable. That was for me? My toes scrunch up in my damp socks. The bus is thrown into gear and ALL of the faces peer out the warm windows in jungle light staring at me, arriving at conclusions. Someone has poured cement over my body and it has dried quickly. I dare not stare back at them but I cannot break my observation of each bus window passing me by with different faces. It's a queer comic strip that passes with various expressions on different heads. Most are a glance and quickly look away. A man does this, and jerks his head around, he wants to say something to me and can't. The window, the departure of the bus. He raises a hand half way and puts it down again. For a moment it reminds me of class when I think I know the answer and realize I don't. My hand shoots part way up and quickly down before I am called on.
What was it? Who are you? Did you recognize me? You saw me, and on this miserable day and you left. You left! You could have pulled the cord man. You could have gotten off the bus and just said something. I didn't care if you did or didn't. Walk past me and get out of your comic strip. Make me real.

Dear Dr. Crawshaw-
That was a cool assignment. You asked that I be one of the homeless people I told you that stand outside Harbor lights on my way to work. You twisted it once and then twice. You asked that I BE one of the homeless and see ME on the bus going by. It was a wonderful tasty challenge to come up with the scenario and I appreciate it. Thank you. I will see you soon. Have a good day.
With warm regards,
Aaron Greenberg