CHAPTER 3

TRANSFER, PLEASE

01-05-2001

Every now and then, for fun, I like to ride the bus for fun. Different times, different routes, so as to not fall into a recognizable pattern. Still, eventually, you do begin to notice a pattern among individuals - the hispanic lady going to work for 4:15, the young girl going to her boyfriend's house, and so on.

One early morning bus, the 7AM Route J, a mentally handicapped man always gets on, Monday thru Friday. I heard him tell someone once that he's 43 and is in a work program.

Every morning, without fail, he gets on the 7AM bus. And standing right there, to see him off, is his mother. I judge her to be about 70. She's frail, bent over, and walks with a cane. She must love her son so much to see him off every morning and to be there when he gets home on the 6PM bus.

He must love her too, utterly devoted to her and her love.

I wonder what his reaction will be when he gets to work and is called into his boss' office, and hears that less than 5 minutes after he got on the bus, someone driving a stolen car struck and killed her as she walked along the side of the icy road. Will he break down sobbing? Fly into a blind rage, sweeping everything off of his boss' desk in front of him, throwing it at the wall? Will he not comprehend the fact she is dead? Will he go home, lock himself in the house, not coming out until his body joins hers?

Or, will he merely think "people should clean their sidewalks off, so momma doesn't have to walk in the street any more."?

Who knows?

"Transfer, please...."