Monday, April 12, 2004
Katrina Part III
A few days ago I was waiting for my 38L to work in the morning when the regular 38 rolled up. I stood back to let others board and then heard a thumping from inside the bus. I glanced up to see Katrina on the bus, waving to me, smiling broadly, welcoming me on board. I waved her off - I was waiting for the next bus, I tried to convey to her. She seemed disappointed, until she suddenly leaped to her feet and started pounding on the exit door; they let her off the bus and she joined me at the stop. Her gold bridge and teeth gleamed in the morning sun. “Nyaa, hello,” she said happily. “Hello, how are you?,” I replied. She didn’t answer, but a few seconds later she repeated back to me, “Nyaa, hello, how are you?” “I’m fine, how are you?” She just grinned at me, grinned at the traffic. She didn’t answer. She did, however, hand me two jolly rancher candies.
The L arrived with merciful swiftness. With grunts of delight and consternation she shouldered her way to the front of the line and almost ran to a bench near the back of the bus. I moved more slowly and took my usual seat half-way down. She noticed that I’d separated myself from her and got up, forded the stream of foot traffic to join me. I resigned myself to her company. She smiled, started to dig in her bag - put her hands on a ziplock with baggies full of photos in it. My heart sank. As if she felt my discomfort, she dropped the photos, took hold of another ziplock, pulled a paltry butter and jelly sandwich from it wrapped in plastic. “My food,” she announced to me. “Very nice,” I told her. She began to try to take a bite of the wrapped sandwich, realized that she was chewing on saran wrap and quickly put it back away in the purple backpack she held on her lap. Then she pulled out a large white envelope folded into quarters and carefully unfolded it, sharing its contents with me: a letter from a doctor, handwritten in both russian and english, stating plainly that “Katrina M~ has medical problems - she is retarded.” I told her I didn’t know if she wanted me to read the letter. She thoughtfully put it back int the envelope, which she folded and returned to the backpack.
We were getting close to her stop when she asked me, “You married?” We’d covered this territory before and I didn’t want to go back there again, but I answered, “Oh, yes, fifteen years.” “Kids?” “No kids.” “Me, no kids, no husband anymore… all gone now...” I felt her emotions start to well up and choke her but she moved on quickly before we got stuck. I noticed - for the first time - a slim silver band around her left ring finger. Looked like a wedding ring. Made me wonder.
“Anyway,” she continued, “you’re my friend.” She said it as a simple, well-established fact. “I’m your friend?” “Oh yes, you’re my friend, aren’t you?” “I guess I am.” “Well, bye bye friend.” And with that, Katrina got off the bus again.
