We could view this waiting for a late bus, this broken spoke in the wheel of our morning routine, as a lesson in the entropic nature of the universe. We might embrace the opportunity to learn a little better that we are not in control of our own lives, that our habit of sleepwalking through the days has lulled us into a dreamworld of security and stability, when the fact of the matter is that the edifice of life is so fragile that at every moment we run the risk of disaster, given the appropriate well-timed random event. The lateness of the bus--and it is quite late now--serves as a reminder that the universe is much larger than we are, that the grand spectacle of life is so immense that our own lives disappear within its vastness if you pull back far enough to see the bigger scope.
Or it could so serve, but the people actually standing on the pavement in the cold and wet on a Monday morning are in no mood to reflect on the nature of the universe. Rather than accept that they are being carried along by time and space, they insist that they are their own engines of progress and so they scowl up the street, stamp their feet and pull out cell phones to warn coworkers that no, they'll not be coming in on time and a few make irritable remarks to one another about the lousy bus service and everyone's mood slides down a notch into frustration, despair and anger.
One man finally breaks with the pack, jaywalking across the street to buy a cup of coffee. The bus appears in the distance, five blocks away. Those at the bus stop stand straighter, preparing self-righteous glares to unleash upon the driver, checking their watches and computing the time they'll arrive at the office. The man who has gone for coffee has also purchased a scone, and has made it back to the stop as the bus arrives. Some of his fellows look askance at him, envious of his coffee and scone and wishing that he had been delayed at the espresso stand, missing the bus completely. It's almost as if this man had been rewarded, singled out for a prize rather than suffering with everyone else. He and his latte can fuck off. Hope he chokes on his scone.
The man with the latte and scone fails to notice this bitterness as he finds a seat near the back of the coach. He is aware of only his own relief at having managed to fetch breakfast while not missing the bus. He drinks his latte, putting the scone into his briefcase for later that morning. Putting on headphones and turning up the volume of his iPod, he watches the city slide past the windows in the gray dawn light. It has been weeks since anyone has seen the sun, and all the colors have been leeched out of the world by the constant rain. People have given up looking at the sky, for winter had transformed it into a flat, gray mass of dirty concrete, even the crows losing interest in flying as the air itself seemed to give up hope for a ray of sunlight or a patch of blue. Did we used to see stars at night? Did the moon once have phases and a face of its own? Was there ever a sound but the sound of rain?
Across the aisle, on the other side of the bus, a 24 year-old woman watched the man drink his latte. She shivered and hugged herself to combat the chill. She hadn't dressed for the weather, foolishly choosing style over practicality, and had been surprised when her umbrella turned up missing from her backpack. Her roommate had borrowed it without asking, again. While it wasn't raining heavily that morning, her light cotton sweatshirt was still soaked and she was cold and miserable. She looked at her watch and decided that she'd be happier skipping the morning's research at the library to have a hot breakfast instead.
She got off the bus at the next stop that came up and half-ran up the block to a coffee shop. By the cash register was a display of umbrellas for sale, brightly colored, compact and inexpensive. She bought one while ordering a coffee and a lemon tart, thinking that it had certainly been a good idea to come here rather than continue on the bus to the library. Her research partners could make do without her this one time.
She carried her tart, her coffee and her new umbrella to a table by the shop's window. It was still raining out, but armed as she was with a new orange and red umbrella, she thought that perhaps the city was not quite so ugly as she'd been telling herself all morning. Her coffee was warming her up and the lemon tart was delicious.
The woman considered and then rejected digging her research notes from her backpack. For a few minutes, she thought, I'd like to forget I'm earning a master's degree and be nothing more than a girl having coffee on a rainy morning. I've never been to this shop before; it's nice, if a bit small. The coffee is good. I should get one of these tarts to go. I could get up early once in a while and come here before class. The barista's cute. I wonder how old he is. He's singing along to this music, whatever it is. Sounds English. No, I don't know it.
She turned from the barista and looked outside again: still raining. Her attention wandered from the weather to the storefronts across the street. An Indian restaurant was directly opposite her, a record store on its left and a clothing store on the other side. She'd passed through this neighborhood daily for months on end, but this was her first foray off the bus here. I can't believe I've never been here, she thought. The shopping looks pretty good. A lot of places to eat, too, and isn't there a movie theater a few blocks down? I wonder what the rent is like around here. I'd love to have my own place, know that my new fancy umbrella will be where I put it when I need it.
Her cup and saucer were both empty, and she carried them to the counter where she thanked the barista while getting a better look at him. Way too young, she thought, and stepped outside into the light rain. Unfurling her cheerful new umbrella, she walked down the street, looking into shop windows and up at brick facades of apartment buildings. The light was changing, the city less gray as the clouds began to break and the sun brought touches of color here and there. The rain continued unabated.
She walked along, heading west on the north side of the street. What a perfectly charming neighborhood she'd discovered. Hard to believe she'd barely known it existed. A mail carrier walked by with a full bag. She smiled at him. He smiled back.
Out of an alley, a large spaniel bounded, running up to her with wagging tail and a foolish grin. "Hello puppy," she said to the dog. "Aren't you cold? Where do you live? No, I don't have any food for you. Sorry. Yes, you're a gorgeous dog, but you have to go home now, okay?"
She patted the dog, who was soaked from the rain but didn't seem to notice, and then turned back the way she'd come, looking for a bus stop. Should she pop back into the coffee shop and get one of those lemon tarts for later, or just come back tomorrow? Hey, is that dog following me? Damn, it is.
"Hey, puppy. You can't come with me. I'm getting on a bus in a minute. Go home. Good dog, go home now."
The dog barked once and sat down.
"Okay, you can sit there if you want, but you can't follow me. Okay? Good boy. Girl. Dog."
She walked away. The dog jumped to its feet and followed for half a block and then wandered down a side street. It smelled sausage cooking somewhere and though the dog was not particularly hungry, its nature dictated that it must investigate.
Miles to the east, the man with the scone in his briefcase was getting off the bus and checking his watch. He was a good quarter-hour late already. Still, there was always time for a smoke before going into the office. He stepped under the partial shelter of a large tree and dug a pack of cigarettes from his coat. The sun, he decided, was undeniably starting to make an appearance.
The woman walked past the coffee shop, having spotted the bus stop. She cast a quick glance through the window and had a brief but detailed fantasy conversation, romance and sexual encounter with the too-young barista. She decided that she'd pick up another lemon tart today before catching her bus. Turning on her heel to go back to the shop, she slipped on a slick spot of something and fell backwards. Her left hand held her cheerful new umbrella, her iPod was in her right hand, and the moment of hesitation where she couldn't quite figure out how to break her fall was enough time for her to cascade down in a blur of purple sweatshirt, orange-and-red umbrella and chestnut hair, all the force of her fall taken by the back of her skull against the rim of a steel trash can. Her body felt as if a bolt of lightning had passed through it and she saw a flash of blue-white light. Then she was sitting on the pavement in the rain. Her head didn't hurt at all.
Was she sitting? Why was she sitting? The back of her head felt wet and hot. Why was water falling on her? Am I taking a shower? It's very bright in here. Why am I wearing clothes in the shower? It's cold. Where's the hot water tap? Is it over there? Is that the door? No, it looks like a car. Why is there a car in my shower? Does this room have a skylight? The light's pretty today. I wonder if it's nice outside. Hey, is that a bus? It's driving fast. I wonder if
