A Stumble in the Bus
by Michael Glessner
Someonewith a warped sense of humor penned my life script. This tragicomedy features me as a plump, 46-year old man programmed to provide comic relief to my fellow actors.
Yesterday’s food shopping run produced a typical scene. City Transit Bus #10 is seldom crowded in mid-afternoon. At that time the bus can provide me uneventful transport to and from the Acme Supermarket. I prefer to be the quasi-invisible man as I go about my day.
At 3:00 pm, I stood at the corner of Delaware Avenue and Clayton Street. My three plastic bags of groceries and I shared space with a woman in the roofed, plexiglass structure provided by thetransit company. It protected us from the steady drizzle that dampened the day. We stood in silence. Personally, I find small talk with strangers both inane and intrusive.
The bus arrived and I stepped back to allow the woman to board first. I managed the steps fine and deposited my fare without mishap. However, the bus lurched as we pulled out into traffic and I stumbled against one of the seats. As I reached out to steady myself, one bag tipped and three oranges fell to the floor and began a run for freedom down the center aisle. The oranges and I now occupied center stage for our four or five co-riders – not good. Warmth spread from my collar upward as a ruddy blush made its appearance.
I deposited my bags on an empty seat and set out to chase the fleeing fruit. Graceful maneuvers while bending over in a moving vehicle are not my strong suit. A picture comes to mind of a frantic, overweight Irish setter scrambling to gain his footing on ice.
I retrieved two oranges in the aisle but the third rolled under a seat now occupied by my companion from the bus stop. This kicked the tension up a notch. The moment grew more awkward. I couldn’t just bend down and reach between or around her legs to grab the orange. Trapped, I would have to say something. We made eye contact and for the first time I saw that she was an attractive forty-something with a pleasant, friendly face. She smiled warmly and I responded with a sheepish grin. She said, “It seems that you’ve lost something.”
I stood there for what seemed an eternity, clutching two oranges and searchingf or words. Finally I managed, “I’m so sorry. I lost my balance. The oranges got away.” What a pathetic response.
Shesaid, “Let me help you” and bent down to reach for the orange.
“Nothat’s all right, I can reach it.” I dropped quickly to one knee intending to grab the fruit myself. We bumped heads. My face reddened even more and the farce continued. “I’m sorry, are you OK?”
Once again she flashed that cheerful smile and said, “I’m fine…hard head, you know?”
Just then, the bus turned a corner and the movement drove the wayward orange back out into the aisle. I grabbed my nemesis before it went any further. I stood and shifted the three oranges to one hand and held out my other hand intending a handshake as a gesture of thanks. The move backfired as one orange popped free and landed squarely in her lap.
AgainI searched for something appropriate to say. “Look, I think that orange really likes you. Why don’t you keep it? I can get by without it.” Not a great reply. At least I didn’t say I’m sorry for the third time in less than a minute.
She laughed and said, “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
I watch lots of movies and I know that, were the cameras rolling, the remainder of this scene would feature clever repartee; a growing awareness that we are two single people brought together by the fates; a date to meet for dinner, and all this before either of us arrived at our stop.
However ,my life is limited to watching movies alone, not playing a role in them. So, one orange poorer, I mouthed another weak apology and shuffled back to my seat.
END
A recent retiree from a career in healthcare administration, I enjoy the challenge of creating quality fiction in the short story format. Contact Michael.
