You're excused

This 32 bus was, as always packed, even though the second of two. I'd been able to get a seat way in the back, though slow boarding due to numerous people angling in ahead of me. When we pulled away, the aisle was stuffed tight as a sausage.

Well, everyone wants to get home and who can blame them? Sitters with their backpacks or bags on their laps play on their phones. The 'for dear life' standees rock forward and back, side to side, with the movement of the vehicle.

Mt. Hope coming up! I press the stop request tape and struggle to my feet. My shoulder is still sending shooting pains up my neck. I move forward to be ready when the bus pulls over. A solidly built young man hanging from a strap snaps peevishly, sarcastically, 'Excuse me,' as I bump him (I guess). 'I appreciate you letting me pass,' I reply, catching a glimpse of his girlfriend's grin. At that, he bends forward blocking my passage behind him but I push by anyway to the door and hop down onto the curb.

How seldom is there any of that kind of friction on any 32, though we fill every bus early or late. Each of us is in out private space, and though arms might criss-cross to get to a stanchion or bar, we almost never touch. Seaters have complained about my bag in their faces, and I've taken their point. so there's been nothing said about that recently. Our feet sometimes touch as we seek wide-enough footing to provide stability, but we quickly break contact. All this reflects a public forbearance that allows us to be very close to but very distinct from each other.

We even say 'excuse me' or 'sorry' when we push past each other to get to the back door before the driver closes it and the bus moves on to the next stop several hundred yards down the road. I didn't this time because the young man's remark seemed a bit uncalled for; I don't like apologizing for what I'm not even sure I've done. Disrespect meets false accusation: the makings of a war, especially considering the attitudes that instantly sprang up.

Oh, fellow 32 bus vets (including you, young man), how many times we've made space for each other, however tight the fit, and how often we've inhabited those narrow spaces without (vocal) protest. We know the trick of being along together---almost the opposite aim of this blog: to be together when alone.