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Bus Story: Time Has No Effect on These Wounds

November 12, 2010

Typical gray and chilled Friday morning with a less-than-full bus making our way downtown. Nothing much of note for the first half, and then she stepped aboard. A very tall woman enters the ole 54, she must be 6′ if not a little more. I would guess that she’s well into her 70’s, and still moves with clear purpose and a steady gait. A study in maroon is her outfit: a deep maroon stripe in her pants picks up the more intense color of her soft, but lined jacket, topped off by a matching beret. She has a face that is round and wizened at the same time, with those half-glasses I haven’t seen worn since my junior high school biology teacher. And then her hair – it’s shoulder-length, untamed and very white. Looking out from all that hair and those glasses are eyes that have seen too much. Her aspect is heart-stricken, pain and melancholy to such a point that my throat catches and I’m almost brought to tears. Medea. Grieving for her children and her loss. Madness and despair have settled, and she’s riding the ole 54 in search of some relief. Peace be with you, Circe’s niece. May you find rest soon.

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