Metro Route #7: Rainier Beach, Columbia City, Rainier Valley, International District, Downtown.
I fought with my girlfriend, again. She yelled. I yelled. She cried. I yelled some more. She cried some more. And I left. It was becoming more a part of our routine. I’m just not sure how much longer we can really last.
I waited beneath the canopy of a maple tree. Every few minutes someone would walk by. I would make up a story to go a long with them. Like the woman from Detroit who couldn’t handle the stress back east so she came to Seattle only to find that her life was much calmer where she was and now she doesn’t even know if she can make the rent payment much less feed herself. Followed by a man who’s wife just left him and took their children. He’s finding it hard to think and even harder to breathe. Now all he has left is the solemn noise of cars on Rainier Ave. to keep him from pulling the gun from his bedside table and making a choice he is sure to forget. People have all kinds of stories.
The bus crested the hill and rolled to a steady halt. The doors swung open and the driver, a middle aged man with little hair remaining except for a large mustache which he wore with pride. He glanced slightly to acknowledge my presence as I paid the fare, the doors closed and quickly ended our encounter.
Street lights flew past the windows as we pulsed down the most delicate artery of the city. We would stop at times, to let a few teenage girls on or so that a young couple with a newborn could get off. Every beat a new face. Each beat with a new story.
We had risen from the valley by the time that she boarded the bus. Her eyes were well traveled with long dusty blond hair and skin that had aged for too long in the sun. She fumbled with the fare box before sitting down a few yards ahead of me, her hair like a rats nest from the wind.
We reached 14th and Jackson, were many people were entering and exiting the bus. Without my noticing, she was then sitting beside me. Unsure how to respond I sat motionless as we traveled down into the city. We descended into the brief darkness beneath the freeway and I felt her move closer to me. Her thigh pressed tight against my own and I could feel her pulse through the long cotton skirt.
“Do you have a cigarette?” she asked in a voice shallow and hurting, as if she had just been beaten.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t smoke.” I lied.
She smiled politely and then reached over to hold my hand. Her fingers trembled as I cupped her hands. We rode in silence, staring into one another.
As the bus rounded the corner on 3rd I realized the moment would have to end. I slowly moved our hands over her lap and released. With the movement of palm in the wind her hands floated down to her knees. I reached up and pulled the chord.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I uh…” I began to stutter when she stopped me with a closing gesture to my mouth.
“Thank you, for not saying anything.”
I stared into her eyes for a moment longer then I should have and then departed the bus. I wandered the streets of Downtown for hours wondering why I decided I had to get off at that stop. I had no where else to be. Finally, tired of the day and put off by the prospect of rain I boarded another bus home.
About half a block from my apartment I started to gather the stray clothes of mine. A sock here. A tee shirt there. My boxers hanging from the neighbors flower box. Some had already fallen gently to the sidewalk or fallen from the tree taking with them the young branches that failed. Many still were outside my reach. I’m not sure how much longer we can really last.
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