You wait at the end of your block. Cars rush through the morning fog. The sun has barely risen and the street glistens with last night's rain shower. You watch as the two bright rays of the bus lights climb up the hill and stop with a chhhhh in front of you. This is something you have done what feels like a million times, almost muscle memory. It’s an essential part of your day, your life. You step up and into the bus. You scan your yellow bus pass and greet the driver, who nods back at you. The bus takes off down the road as you try to keep your balance. Wobbling down the aisle, you find your seat in the back of the bus. The bus isn’t too full this morning so you won’t have to stand for a half hour. You put your earbuds in and let the music wake you up a little more.
You observe the people around you. You see the irritated businessman, light blue button down shirt, gray slacks, briefcase in hand. He’s on a call, discussing lowered stocks or some other important financial crisis. You see the other school kids, big backpacks full of unfinished homework and textbooks. You see the college student, lanyard around their neck, yawning, holding iced coffee. You see the sleeping man, which stresses you out a little because you worry they might miss their stop.
You look out the window. You see the random stores on Ridge Ave, the five nail salons, two laundromats, the Starbucks, the 7-11. You see the row houses of Manayunk, each a different color, different decorations, a different story. You see the people out for early morning walks with their dogs, a dachshund, a dalmatian, a poodle. You see the people waiting for their own buses, not quite awake. You see the bikers, blurs of torn knee pads and blue and green helmets. You see the trees, starting to flower or turn green with the changing seasons.
You see the gray regional rail train go by above you. You see Boathouse Row and the rowers, already out on the gleaming, blue water. You see the buildings of Center City, glistening in the sun, towering over everything. You think about all the different things you have noticed this morning, how the common and seemingly mundane task of taking the bus can really reveal so much about the world around you.
You pull the yellow string and gather your bag and stand up. Your balance is tested again as you walk to the front of the bus. The bus comes to a stop and you thank the driver as you step off. You walk a few feet and wait for the light to change so you can walk the last couple blocks and into school, through the metal detectors, up the stairs, and into the classroom.