Late bus

life

I'd just attended a college dinner and was pleasantly full of food and wine. The waiters at the formal meals have a sneaky way of filling your glass over your shoulder while you're looking the other way. A brief flicker of bewilderment passes over your face as you look at your glass and think, "I'm sure that was nearly empty a moment ago", before you shrug it off and carry on drinking. I mention this to inform you that I was not drunk on the way home, just oiled to a gentle and mellow lustre.

When I had a drink or two, I feel lightly detatched (semi-detatched, perhaps) from my surroundings and my own concerns, and it is often at these moments that I am at my most open to what is going on around me. A couple got on the bus after a few stops, and it was very clear that all was not well between them. The woman was crying and turning away from the man. He--a big, solid man--was pleading with her to talk to him. "How do I know what's wrong if you won't talk to me? Please, tell me what I can do!" Their body language made me think about distance and barriers. Being British and therefore allergic to public 'scenes', I was trying not to listen, but it's not easy to ignore such an emotionally compelling scene on a quiet bus.

After one stop, they got off and stood frozen by the side of the road. The woman was holding on the railings of the park and gazing off in to the dark while the man stood like an Anthony Gormley sculpture. I don't know what the problem was, or how they got into such a mess, but I do hope that they managed to sort it out.

comments powered by Disqus