On the #7

The sun’s rays slowly warm the chilled morning. I walk up to the bus awaiting me in the piazza. I climb on and sit in my usual spot: four back from the front on the left. The only other person on the bus is the “Pony-Tail Lady”. The Pony Tail Lady never ever misses the bus and is always the first on. She keeps her long gray hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and she reminds me of Marilla Cuthbert. Her eyes dance around the bus, looking at everything. Soon there are three of us. A girl sits in the front with a purse on her lap. She is wearing tennis shoes and glasses and looks no older than 21. As it draws closer to 7:35 more people arrive. A tall muscular high school boy enters the door. His dark, thick eyebrows frame his eternal scowl. He walks to the back and sits down. Before the doors close a woman with thick curly hair gets on. She has a bag over her left shoulder and right hip; she holds it with her hand. She never ever sits down, she always stands, even if there is a seat open. The driver tosses his cigarette on the sidewalk and climbs on. The bus gives a rumble, the doors close, and we’re off! but all of a sudden a light blue car pulls in front of the bus. Two girls jump out. Katarina, the older one, is short and slender and has her short hair pulled back. The second girl, Lilli, has bright blonde hair and is wearing sweats. They quickly get on the bus. Now we are off! We sail past most of the beginning stops and we stop only at San Domenico, one fourth of the way down the hill leading to Florence. Several get on including one of the usuals: a middle aged man with gray hair, wearing a black suit. He has a face shaped slightly like that of a duck. As we continue, a loud laugh emerges from the group of high schoolers from the back. Several stops later two get on. The first is a 9th grade boy. He is tall and has huge eyes and a lopsided smile. His hair is unruly and looks unbrushed. He half runs to the back of the bus-bumping in to an old lady on the way-where he loudly greets his friends. The second to enter the bus is an old, tall man with blue eyes and white hair. His face is full of wrinkles and is slightly shadowed by his black felt hat. He wears a long trench coat and looks British. He looks friendly and nice. I look into his eyes and wonder what have they seen. Soon Anne Hathaway’s twin gets on the bus; she smiles and waves to her friends and waits for her stop. She is carrying a polka dot bag and has on brown slippers. She holds on to the pole in front of me. The “Lady-Who-Always-Stands” gets off the bus and walks away, where is she going? The next stop is mine. We sit at a red light; as soon as it turns green I get up and adjust my backpack and step froward. The duck man moves over so I can pass and the British man takes my seat, I’m glad. I stand at the middle door and descend with five others. I slip through the dumpsters blocking the sidewalk. I watch the bus drive away. Tomorrow I will wake up and get on the bus; Marilla Cuthbert will be waiting on the bus; the scowling boy will walk to the back; the 21 year old will sit at the front; the curly haired lady will stand; Katarina and Lilli will almost miss the bus; the duck man will be wearing a black suit; the 9th grader will still have a lopsided smile; the old man will have on his hat and coat; Anne Hathaway’s twin will smile; everyday we all do the same thing; we all need to be somewhere, and the only way to get there on time is taking the #7 at 7:35.


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