Wednesday, October 22, 2003

a friendly conversation on the bus

They sat together on the bus on an in-facing bench; when a seat opened next to them I jumped in, galvanized with curiosity.  They held hands - or more accurately, one had her hand on the other’s thigh, and the other laid her hand over it, delicately curling fingers around fingers.  The one next to me was blonde and pretty, long feathered hair, knit skirt, square toe leather boots, floursack purse.  The other was also pretty, wearing blue jeans, a black sweater, her dark hair brushed back and falling past her shoulders, with a jute bag and running shoes.  Neither wore makeup or perfume.  They leaned toward each other, touching at the ankle, hip and shoulder - basically, as much as they could on the bus bench.  Their eyes were only and ever on each others’ eyes and knees.  They spoke quietly - sometimes they whispered, pressing lips to ears, wrapping arms around shoulders.  Their voices were breathy - I could smell their breath, the warm exhalation of their inmost thoughts.  I couldn’t hear much of what they said, though I dawdled on a single page of my book for mile after mile… the snippets I could steal from them were not the words of long-time intimates: “Have you every been to Friendster?” “So I got really mad and I wound up calling the Rabbi...” “I couldn’t stand to work there any more so I just gave notice and then I had to find another job....” As they delicately disentangled and left the bus together at a major downtown stop, a modest proxemic gap opened between them and they hit the sidewalk as two individuals and not as a joined pair of lovers. I wondered how long they’d known each other, how many times they’d slept together, whether either of them had ever been with a woman before.  I could feel their longing linger in the air next to me and I knew they’d be together again as soon as they were able.  Sooner, maybe.