Eastbound 56

I stood at the bus stop waiting for the eastbound 56 to rescue me from a very disagreeable neighborhood at a very disagreeable time of night. What brought me there is not important; or I am embarrassed to admit it. Either way, it will remain undisclosed.

It's a strange phenomenon I've noticed since moving to the city four years ago: No matter which bus you happen to be waiting on; regardless of route, area, and time of day, you can always sadly observe three or four buses on the same route pass by in the opposite direction you wish to travel.

In this case, three westbound 56 buses had chugged by, spitting bursts of black smoke out at the rear, which I took to be their antagonistic laugh. "Ha!" they all hacked at me and I wished they had "How is my attitude?" and a 1-800 number printed on the back. I leaned against the "BUS STOP ROUTE 56" sign post, begging to be plucked out of this offensive place. No bus came.

Several people whose company I could have done without were pacing or standing in view. Most were alone, but there were a couple of pairs, as. I cannot quite identify the reason, but I felt threatened, in immediate danger.

I considered crossing the street to be swept up and carried westward, but I supposed the phenomenon would work against me again. Then, in this nightmarish hell hole, I would stand watching four eastbound transports cruise on by while westbound service halted just to laugh at me. So I stayed put, stubbornly holding my ground and determined to wait it out.

In the scattered orange light of the streetlamps (or the ones that still worked), shadows leaped and jumped. Dumpster lids slammed shut and cans skidded across pavement somewhere nearby. I am not sure how many of the moving shadows were my imagination, but I suspect most or all of them were. The woman who emerged from a nearby alley, stumbling and crossing her feet in a laughable excuse for walking, though, was not my imagination.

I stepped off the curb to check for an approaching 56 and it was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, she came closer in what I thought of as a "sidewinder" kind of walk. I hoped to shit she wasn't coming to stand with me at the bus stop.

Remaining upright only by some miracle, some celestial puppet master whose strings were busting one by one, rendering the woman progressively less stable, she passed by. A bitter sweet moment it was, as another 56 churned westward away from me.

I was again considering swapping sides but I had already invested a full twenty-five minutes waiting for the eastbound bus. Not to mention, going west would only bring me farther from home. But because I wasn't looking for a scrolling bus banner that read Route 56 toward HOME, I figured Route 56 toward ANYWHERE ELSE would do just fine.

I would wait it out. I had made a conviction to catch the eastbound goddamn bus and, Christ as my witness, that is exactly what I was going to do. Soon after convincing myself (again) that it was in my best interest to stay put, a haggard old man stepped up to the bus stop across the street.

I supposed that the phenomenon couldn't work against us both. It couldn't, right? Surely it was this gray old hunchback's turn to watch helplessly as three or four eastbound buses strolled by to antagonize him, and I'd be on board the first. It had to be his turn. He was the last to step up to the curb. And everyone knows this is one rule that never fails. The bus phenomenon is as reliable as any of Newton's laws.