on the way Sunday-Beauty in a butt crack

It was one of those mornings...the gray kind, upon eye opening, there was an inherent force and tightness in the room. Oh, ... to pry my eye.. Three more minutes of meaningful sleep between the snooze and the final call. A car alarm repeatedly knocked inside of my skull, without solace for the golden and seemingly life changing three minutes I deserved, the three minutes I was owed.

This, created the inner scream, adding to the immediate Sunday morning heaviness. Somewhat unwilling to admit, secretly, (not so much anymore), the alarm, my enemy helped thrust me out and into the start of a day's experience. With led legs and swollen eyes, like a baby dinosaur hatching from an egg in that childhood movie memory of mine, I stumbled, without the reptilian stretch.

Some short(ish) time later, after the expected morning duties (minus bed making), I found myself at bus stop 1. Bundled in the early briskness, layered for protection. With skin so thin, I began to see the beauty of this gray day-the brightness everyday passings had to offer and had yet to be discovered. Accompanied by the almost inescapable bus stop rage when collecting minutes without room in my pockets to keep them in, I noticed the street was glistening with morning moisture and everything was illuminated in contrast with the layered hues of the tenebrous clouds. Graffiti glowed and had evolved-overnight-the smell of fried chicken had dissipated and my tea was a perfect temperature. -A temperament, reawakened.

The central line east bound was a treat, empty as expected, only a handful on the move, silently, we sat s p a c e d out.

I shared my ride with him, a driver. A humble man. The new middle age. Hard working, hard of hearing and soft. Wrinkles of character, I stared at him kindly. Observing. Thinking I'd try to sketch him later.. trying to soak it all in. Off of work or on his way? A bus diver? Perhaps train? His eyes looked above, shiny deep brown marbles.. avoiding all other marbles. -The transit marble game, an unspoken rule of avoidance. He had a putty face, with signs of smiles and a forehead full of expression guided by his caterpillar brows. Thinning on top, black and back, his hair and heart sat calmly. Hands crossed, manicured, navy blue.-Uniformed. Accomplishment. Decidedly, he was heading home to rest. Modestly he sat with soles screaming the steps and tales unforgotten.. an obvious appreciation for his journeys.

The tube doors opened, we both sat still, opposites across, and glanced the same direction. A younger girl, heavy set, with low tight jeans, provoking a penguin walk, awkwardly held a poorly designed suit case. She made a move from the geometric crusty upholstery toward the world beyond. One eye on her, another on him, a moment shared...

The back of her jeans, guided by an unnecessary belt lowered as she stood and wobbled... and there we were, opposites both staring at her pale, half-mooned morning... butt crack. His marbles quickly darted away from the scene and landed upon mine. He knew, I knew, we saw. His putty face softened even more, possibly a bit embarrassed. Framed with deep crevices, he squinted. We shared a smile.

This wasn't just a smile.. it was an understanding. A conversation. A handshake and an acceptance. It only lasted seconds, but time seemed to stop with the oddity of unification over a butt crack. I giggled inside, and I still am.

I then decided that I must now definitely sketch the driver and I continued to attempt to discreetly observe. He was prickly from nose down, like sandpaper. The sandpaper met his double collar and loop of his lanyard with a small swoop of plush human fur in waves. His nose was braced with triangles leading to his cheeks. Clean and tired, determined and over-worked, he was- the driver.

I stared again at his shoes, significant threads like sea urchins-frayed, as we swayed..marbles like magnets-and another grin exchanged. Most welcomed with another squint and a nose wrinkle.

The doors opened-partnered, we exited, or entered?... the world outside-the extension of my apprehension-Sunday gray, still brightened. We crossed like pigeons in the walk and over the bridge, he found a red ticket on the ground. A tiny treasure. a pleasure. Apart, yet together, I celebrated with him..myself, unnoticed, we bounced opposites, as we had began.

Bust stop 2, waited and deliberated... which number was going to be my Lucky Leyton? Breath like minty smoke, a collection of coolness, my exhalation was warmed by the hot tea steam- Engines passed. I stood.

Roofs patterned perfect rectangles shone across the motorway. Red. Gray. Brown. Red. Gray. Brown.-Brown. Brown. Brown. Brown. Trimmed with what once was white. The red, so luminous, nearly a pink today...

Atypically again, the dinge had disappeared.

A milk truck, so mini, circled and delivered.-Transfixed, with a delivery daydream... I waited and whined in my chamber, silently. Numbers came and went, no big red for me.. for us.. not our bus. Wheels hissed to a stop. Loaded up and ready to roll, a man ran in desperation with a look of pain, for time, to make the doors...

I stood to fool the driver as if I wanted to board, digging a delay-for my pass...for the runner- made the finish line. With heavy breath and crescent eyes, he panted a murmur of "thanks."

Satisfied and soon to be surprised, I turned around, greeted by the laughter of four unknowns who observed my antics.. they commented and warmed the air.. I shrugged, replied, "Eh.. we all need a bit of help sometimes."

Our lucky Leyton, #158 finally arrived and we pattered on... another journey, individually, together. This time, a stop and go with a decorated march in between.