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Bus Story: Swing By For A Ride

May 16, 2013

The afternoon sun beams into the coach, casting deep shadows and bouncing bright light off shiny chrome surfaces. As we turn, a shadowy corner is revealed and, as my eyes adjust, she slowly appears, as if the volume knob on her reality is gradually turned up. Her ankle boots are black and exquisitely made. Where they end, leopard-print leggings begin, leading up shapely legs to a black tunic, crisscrossed by the straps of a small, well-loved leather messenger bag. Her handsome face is framed by silver hair, casually yet regally tied back in a pony tail. Contrary to her athletic shape, she appears to be in her late 70’s, with a patrician nose and clear, sharp eyes. She is writing in a journal, one small enough to fit in a pocket, and she deftly writes, in defiance of the rolling bus, with a delicately engraved silver pen. As we make another turn, she is once again lost in shadow and, as she vanishes from sight, I can hear a faint call, as if from far, far in the distance. A distinct and familiar sound, I remember it first from the Johnny Weissmuller movies. I smile, knowing that Tarzan calls, and his dearest love, Jane, will be by his side for always.

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From → Bus Stories

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