Mimi - Mona: POETRY - ON THE BUS

©ON THE BUS

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

July 2014 — All Rights Reserved

  

I was twenty and catching a city bus

for the first time in my life.

My father drove me to the mall.

Playing his part, he waited —

to make himself feel better

about leaving me to my own devices

as if I were a child

in an unfamiliar land who might

be afraid...or get into trouble —

until it pulled up and I stepped

into that unfamiliar world.

Six people got on at this stop —

A housewife and mother... or

was she the maid-slash-governess?...

with a barefoot babe nursing a bottle

took the first two seats facing forward,

a pubescent boy who shoved by

everyone and grabbed a seat by a

smeared window pane near the back,

three men in suits who must be on

their way to their little desks all in a row

took seats separating them from each other,

and me, nervous and continuously

checking the change in my fisted hand

before taking one of the seats with

my back to the windows.

There's beauty in the imperfections

of life's players on this stage —I

see that when our bus is stopped

for a riot of some sort ahead of us

and, as I look closely, I realize

I know that old woman...

I open my window against

all rules of bus riding...

Professor Lund, the grey

eminence of the university,

stands, dazed and trembling,

before a crowd of young

angry protestors and I hear her —

"Ladies, gentlemen!" she begins —

she falters —she screams

trying hard to outshout those with

their backs to the front of our bus.

A tomato flies past her head —

another splatters red on her cheek

and her hair flies out of place

as her head jerks and

her arms raise for self-protection

as more objects jettison

toward the woman I had

encouraged to speak out.

My god, what had I done?

Professor Lund —a friend

of my grandparents on my

father's side...I'd heard stories

about her when I was young —

stories that frightened me —

but I came to know her and

admire her for her

stubbornness and her

individuality and her

original and intelligent thoughts.

She said to me once, "You

don't listen, you don't learn.

I know they call me

Crazy Old Bitch." She chuckled.

She bleached her hair when

she was younger...Grandmother

said, "I declare, Lois, you

sure look fine. I almost

didn't recognize you." The

professor laughed and said,

"Well, maybe the devil won't either!"

I asked the prof about the photo

on her piano —it was of the most

handsome man I could

remember seeing for people

in their generation. She stared

out the window —I'm unsure

she was looking at anything —

then she got this tiny grin...as if

she had a personal secret. She

murmured, "My mamma dragged me,

kicking and screaming, to

their house when they moved

to town...he answered the door...

I swear I never knew

I had a heart until then."

"Look at that crazy ol' bitch!" one

of the business man on the bus said.

It's funny what happens when

things go wrong...

the clock stops —

everything happens

in slow motion —

you can see everything

yet miss every detail.

I was going to be more

than a little late for my

wedding dress fitting.

I leaped from my seat

and was moving to the

door when the driver said,

"Stay behind the yellow line!"

"That woman always frightened

me when I was a child," said

the woman with the bare-foot babe.

"Did you see that?" yelled the

boy in the back. "Smack! Splat!

Right in her face!" He laughed.

They all laughed...except me.

I went to my seat, closed

the window, and slumped

against the back —closed my eyes.

The fat tabby that slept on her couch

was probably watching out the window,

waiting for her to come home...

it would be time for lunch soon.

I didn't have to see to know

she lost the battle —

to know she had fallen

like all the soldiers before her;

I heard the cheers outside and

inside. I was twenty and

I was one hundred twenty

as I sat numb on the bus.