A woman waits for a bus to the hospital. A friend asked her to come. The woman's willingness is a kindness that seems strange in our time, out of place, but for her it is no trouble. It’s what friends do.
So much is quaint in this scene. The woman sits alone at the bus stop. She wears a coat over a simple dress, and her graying hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She holds a handbag in her lap, and she waits.
And so much is remarkable. She says this is what friends do, but we know that’s not true or only rarely true. She has given herself to a journey: the waiting, the travel, the walk through the hospital corridors to her friend’s room, and the return. For most, this would be a chore, a burden, but not for her. She is available.
She hears the cry of a red-tailed hawk in the distance and scans the sky. The bird circles the bus stop, or so it seems to her. At first she wonders if the bird is on a hunt and if she is the prey. But then she notices the bird is gliding, shifting up and down with the currents. Its location is determined by the wind, which the bird accepts. Some of its circuits are wide, some narrow. It could come out of the circle at any time if the current drew it forward. The wind blows above the trees, and the hawk is available.
The bus arrives, she boards, and takes a seat on the side bench. This spot is open, as are most of the seats, but she chooses the side so she can see all the passengers, few as they are. She wonders where they are going. These two middle-aged women to work, this young man to school, this older man — it’s not clear if he plans to disembark.
She looks without staring, yet the glance is enough to make an impression on her, to stir her mind to story. Her fictions are followed by contemplation, then stillness, then sleepiness as the bus lumbers on. Before she closes her eyes, she gathers all the passengers into a single view, takes a deep breath, and blesses them. Everyone on a journey, the bus driver too, the route determined and the stop lights sequenced and the traffic predictable, but the passengers here, now, all going somewhere and together.
All are available.
This story was written for Aging for the Common Good, an initiative of the nonprofit Sympara.