Mr. Bus-Driver Man

So I was on the bus this morning when one of life's sweetest moments unfolded before me; ok, maybe it didn't really unfold there and then, but I witnessed the first inklings of it. The bus was at the bus-stop waiting for its scheduled time to leave and it was just me on it. The elderly driver decides to take a quick break and walks towards the nearby shrubs. He's the nice one, not the guy who wouldn't stop for you once he left the bus bay even if you were in crutches, with a kid in tow and two bags of groceries bouncing off your hand... I hate that man. So anyway, back to my story- I was convinced Mr. Bus-Driver was going to have a smoke- which I was fine with as long as he didn't come back and start to talk with me. Public transportation people always talk to me. Back home, I had a cab-driver once tell me about his affair with a Thai girl and even showed me her photo. He said I looked like someone who would understand. What the...???????? Anyway, I digress again- Mr. Bus Driver man. What happened instead was that he plucks from the shrubs two stalks of pretty flowers and brings them back with him. Don't worry you nature-loving conservartionists- there was nothing uncivic-minded about what he did- the whole shrub is profuse with these stalks of little yellow flowers.

So he gets back on the bus and sheepishly smiles at me, embarassed almost. It was like I caught him doing something no one else should be privy to. "For my wife." he said. And that was that. He arranges them carefully next to him, making sure that them wouldn't fall off when he drove. No one else came up the bus till a couple of stops later and I was in school 10 minutes after. When I got off the bus, he smiled at me again, a conspiratorial smile almost. "I hope she likes them." was all I could say even though I wish I could have said more to him. For those few moments when we were the only ones on the bus, it was like we shared a small slice of experience. Even though Mr. Bus Driver was caught up in the mundane routine of driving students to and from school, thoughts of the woman he loves wasn't far away.

I hope Mrs. Bus-Driver likes her flowers.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep:

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with false love or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
-- "When You're Old and Grey", W. B. Yeats