I was boarding the bus, alone, for the first time. It was a misty, foggy day in June. I was a little nervous, I had to admit. Riding public transport alone was likely an irrational fear and I wanted to overcome it. That, and I wanted to check out the organic foods store. I had become more interested in healthy eating, as I was now an age where normally people cook for themselves.
I looked around for an empty seat, but the bus was pretty full. I ended up sitting on an aisle seat, so I could be sure I'd escape in time for my stop. It probably wasn't so necessary, but it eased my mind a bit. Whoever was sitting next to me was falling asleep inside the hood of their swishy black jacket. I decided they should be amongst the least intimidating people to sit next to on the bus.
It was pretty silent on that bus except for a few Spanish mumbles coming from the back. I would have tried to eavesdrop, attempting to figure out what they were talking about, but they were just too quiet, and far away. I had neglected to bring a book or a music player, figuring it wasn't too long a ride and I would keep entertained just by looking at the window. That, I did, but it was a little boring.
Of course I looked all around the bus at who was riding, out of my typical curiosity of people. There was an old woman with a rain bonnet on, carrying one of those patriotic striped laundry bags. She was staring straight in front of herself, out the window, probably lost in thought, as I was. There was this full-lipped young lady in a black uniform-type shirt with a logo I couldn't quite read. She styled her hair in the wet look and wore hot pink hoop earrings. A black wire from headphones was visible framing her face and I wondered what she was listening to. I couldn't hear any of it, as I was too far away.
I looked out the window as we passed a Turkish restaurant and wondered how the food would be. I didn't plan to stop there today, though. We then passed a home improvement store I had applied to work at. I had mixed feelings about the place. The lady who had interviewed me gave off a cold, impersonal, possibly unfriendly vibe. "Vibes" aren't always correct though. There was also the fact that most of their customers would be men. I was bound to ring up many attractive men, which might lead to flirting, which might lead to guilt. I was married, after all.
The bus stopped loudly. I heard a loud mumble next to me, and the hooded person flinched. The screeching must have woke them. Thick tan fingers reached to remove the black hood. It was a tired-looking man, maybe in his thirties, waking from his slumbers. Waking from his siesta, you might say. He fixed his short black hair a bit and his eyes darted around to quickly take in his surroundings. Did he miss his stop? He yawned, and blinking, widened his eyes for a bit.
"Donde estamos?" he asked me, assuming, as white as I was, that for some reason I knew how to speak Spanish.
"Pienso... Centerford." I replied, noting the name of the local fire department we had passed.
"Ahh, gracias." he replied, more calmly.
I wondered where exactly he had planned to get off, as I tried to take in the sight of him without appearing to stare at him. It must not have worked, because he turned to look me straight in the eyes as I did so. He shot me one of those polite smiles that people give, as he continued looking out at the scenery.
He had big dark eyes which reflected the light grey daylight coming in from the window next to him. His lips were full and chapped and he sucked them, to give them moisture. I think he was chewing his mustache as he did so, as it kind of needed a trim. This reminded me of my husband, and I smiled a bit.
We had reached Oakville and we were probably about half way to my destination. I still had some time to be nervous about getting off at exactly the right place. The formerly hooded man yawned and it was a low-pitched soothing kind of sound. It was getting darker outside, looking more like it would rain. The yawn proved contagious.
He glanced at me. I returned his glance, also looking down at his outfit. An unremarkable black jacket, zippered half way down, revealing maybe a white printed t-shirt. Dark wash blue jeans. Ratty black work boots. I caught him looking at mine, too. A form-fitting burgundy blouse. A plain black skirt just covering my knees. I saw a smile form for a half second at the corner of his mouth, before he resumed looking out the window.
"Por que piensas que hablo Español?" came gradually, choppily, from my English-speaking mouth. I asked why he thought I spoke Spanish, probably not perfectly.
"El papel en tus manos." the paper in your hands, he said.
I looked down at the note I had written myself; the address of the grocery store, written on the back of a small part of a Spanish "word of the day" calendar. One side said Taste of Nature, 490 Cedarcrest Hwy, Seaview, New York. The other side had part of the word "preguntar", which meant "to ask". I had forgotten that the backs of my little scrap papers at home contained hints of my interest in the Spanish language.
"Ohhh," I replied. He smiled and chuckled just a little.
"¿Donde vives?" he asked me where I lived.
"En Westford, ¿y tú?"
"Sunbrook." he replied, his accent obvious with his double "o" sound.
"¿De donde eres?" I asked where he was from.
"Ecuador. Hace dos años que vivo aqui." he replied that he'd moved from Ecuador two years ago.
"Ohhhh," I replied, not really knowing what else to say to that.
There was a silent pause between us. I saw him looking at the note in my hands, or so I thought. Maybe he was looking at my ring. I kind of hoped he wasn't.
"¿A donde vas?" he asked where I was going.
"Un supermercado, natural."
"Ohh, que bueno."
Another silent pause. A little awkward. We looked out of our window. Actually, he was looking out of the window. I was admiring the side of his face, the way his strong jaw line came into his full lips he was licking and sucking for moisture. I wanted to talk more with him, but I was nervous and was trying to translate my thoughts of what I'd say to him in Spanish.
"Puessssss.." I said nervously, barely audibly. "So...", it meant.
"¿Como te llamas?" he asked me my name.
"Lisa, ¿y tu?"
"José."
"Encantado, José." It was nice to meet him. I hoped I was using the right word.
"Igual. Mi esposa se llama Lisa, también."
He revealed that he was married. I was a little disappointed. But then again, I wasn't exactly single either, was I?
"Estas casada, Lisa?" he asked if I was married too.
"Sí."
"Pero, eres tan joven." (But you're so young.)
"Sí. ¿Entonces?" (Yeah, so?)
He then said something which I couldn't understand, the word "matrimonio" being involved.
"Mmm.. que?" I asked.
"Lo siento." he apologized for throwing a few too many words my way.
"Solo hablo un poquito de Español." I told him I only speak a little Spanish.
"Hablas bastante bien." he replied that I speak it well enough.
