Bus Home

I got on the 44 bus at Larimer. It was packed, and I had to stand for ten minutes. When I finally sat down, I sipped my delicious fresh decaf coffee I had in a thermos in my backpack, and looked around at my co-riders for the ride home.

A lady in the side facing front seats had pink sweatpants on under her long navy blue coat. A white stripe lined the side of her sweatpants. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she talked loudly on a cellphone, oblivious to those of us behind her.

The man diagonally across and behind me had on a blue baseball cap over his long hair that was tied back into a ponytail. He had on a greygreen carhart coat, and must have gotten up early or had a tough day, since he was leaning against the window, sound asleep.

Straight across from me was a young couple. He was tall and lanky, and had his light brown hair cut like Napolean Dynamite, who might have been the young man’s role model. She was short and pert and pretty, and had dark brown hair that went little past her shoulders, and large joyful eyes. They talked and laughed the whole time home. It was clear they were good friends, but I wondered if they might be in love, the way they were enjoying each other’s company so much. Before we got to the end of the route I saw she was holding his hand.

Beween Kipling and Ward a mother and her junior high daughter got on. The daughter was carrying a large box of the World’s Finest Chocolates, and they were on their way to Walmart to try to sell some at the front door. I reached over asked the mother if they were selling candy bar’s. “Yes, she is.”, the mother replied. In response to my question of how much the daughter said they were a dollar each. I searched through my wallet but only had a ten and a twenty. I asked for five, and gave her the ten, insisting on no change. She thanked me and her mother said “See, you didn’t think you were going to sell any.” I hardly ever eat chocolate, but one of those bars was just perfect with the coffee I was drinking.

But what I remember most, and I guess what prompted me to sit down here and write, was what happened when I got on the light rail on the way to downtown, 45 minutes earlier. I ride my bicycle the three and a half miles from work to the light rail station, and on this night timed it just right. I pulled up just as a train was approaching. I struggled a little to climb the steps to the train with my bicycle. My heavy pack full of books and tools to fix a flat were making it hard to get aboard, and the signal that the door was closing started dinging.. A black man on the train reached down and grabbed my front tire, helping me up.

It was a small thing, not witnessed by anybody except me, and easily forgotten. I am not so sure though – acts of kindness might have a much greater impact than we realize, particularly with one who notices each time a sparrow falls.