The 87 Bus

My broken foot is still bruised... bluish on one side and then near the heel it has a longish blue line. Not pretty! But the doctor told me to walk on it more... partial weight bearing, they called it. Every person I've told that to has been surprised. That bearing weight is good for the foot? Well, I guess it is.

But this entry is not about my foot. It is about the bus. That's right, the public bus. Usually if I am going to Porter Square, I walk. It takes only 10 minutes from where I live. But I cannot walk there now, so I took the 87. As I hobbled to the bus stop with my crutches I saw the 87 pass by the bus stop--I hate it when that happens, but in this case, there was NO hope of running to catch it. I sat down on the left side of the very uncomfortable black metal bench with my backpack. One bus came, the 88. Then another, the 94, then another 88, then the 90, and last, the 87. I waited 30 minutes. I struck up a conversation with the other person on the bench, but there wasn't much to say in English. Eventually, I found out he was from El Salvador and we continued our conversation in Spanish. He showed me the photo of his seven-year-old daughter. There were several older women waiting to take the bus as well, one with a cane saying that if she sat down, there would be no hope getting up.

I realized today that I like taking the bus because of the people you encounter. And the fact that they actually talk to you is impressive. I'm always talking to strangers, but to find others that do the same, quite frankly, makes me happy and helps me feel less alone. I also realized that taking the bus puts me into contact with people I might not otherwise know... the elderly in particular. Y eso me gusta. It reminds me that there are people with different stories... that not everyone is able bodied, or has a home, or has command of the language of prestige. I'll probably walk when my foot is healed but I should take out the time to wait for the bus because I don't know who I will meet.