You Say Hello

From 30 July 2008

The 40 bus was late this morning. As in, a bus completely failed to show up at the usual stop. Everyone was waiting for about a half an hour, trying to stand in the shade of the church just down the block.

It's surprising how many Vespas there are on the road now, and how many people are biking. Especially women biking, in skirts, awkwardly. If gas wasn't so expensive it'd be even stranger. As it is, pedestrians have to add bikes and motos to the list of street hazards, along with taxis and buses.


When we had gotten on the 9:09am bus this morning, it was pretty full. I sat in the back, next to a guy who wouldn't look at anyone, but stared out the window, listening to his iPod and hugging his man purse. Another woman stood in the aisle. A few blocks later we picked up a few more transiteers, one of whom was a middle-aged Japanese man.

After walking halfway to the back of the bus, he gestured to a seat next to a younger Asian man. The younger man nodded and smiled a look like "of course". Their seats faced sideways, towards the right side of the bus. They sat quietly next to each other for another stop, before the older man said something in English to the younger man, who nodded again and smiled a little.

Then I heard the older man quietly start speaking in Japanese, and the younger man replied with a look of relief, and a long Japanese sentence. The older man stretched out his hand and introduced himself, and the younger man kindly took it and presumably gave his name.

The rest of the ride they talked in Japanese, and seemed very comfortable on the bus, amidst a bunch of aloof, seemingly snotty Americans. While they talked, I noticed their legs relax, until their knees almost touched, and the younger man's shoulders weren't as hunched.

It got me to thinking. Thinking about all the Americans around the world who must also feel that immense relief to find another American, out there somewhere. I've never been off this continent, but nearly all my friends have gone beyond the continental bounds. How many joyful encounters with perfect strangers must happen every day on foreign soil? Encounters with strangers you would never think to talk to back in America?
On the same bus? In the same seat?
Gripping his man purse?