God, I need to write more in this thing.

With that in mind, I hereby propose a regular feature: BUS PEOPLE. Just how regular remains to be seen.

I take the bus to university. It takes an hour each way. Two hours times five days equals ten hours a week riding public transportation.

I spend the vast majority of those ten hours reading. When I'm not reading, I stare out the window at the passing scenery, at buildings, at people in their cars.

I've decided that the people on the bus are more interesting than those things, and that attempting to describe them in short vignettes would be good writing practice. So here goes:

BUS PEOPLE 1: The Child


A woman gets on at the University Hospital, pushing a tandem stroller. A couple of people in the front of the bus make way for her to sit down. In the rear seat of the stroller a very young child sleeps, hidden by a mound of blankets. In the front seat sits a boy of about four or five. He's wearing a black Winnie the Pooh toque and a blue winter jacket with a red liner. He sits upright and attentive, gazing at everyone. He has inherited his mother's dull brown hair, downturned mouth, and small dark eyes. He says a few things I can't make out; the mother replies in that wearily patient way mothers have. They get off a little while later, at the University loop. As the mother pulls the stroller toward the front exit, the boy's eyes meet mine. I give him a half-smile. All at once, the down-turned mouth becomes a mirror image of itself, and the small eyes grow big and bright. It's a remarkable transformation. I find myself wondering whether the mother's face ever changes the same way.