musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

Because I smiled


There are times when I’m glad I don’t have to drive downtown anymore; the buses are more than happy to accommodate me. Of course, some of the riders occasionally seem less than enthusiastic to cede access to the spaces they have saved for themselves and their groceries; they sit in the aisle seat with the shopping bag or backpack on the seat beside them as if their inanimate companion had demanded a window seat like a pouting child.

I can understand the gesture if the baggage they’ve lugged from the store would not go gently on their aching laps or fit on the floor between their tired legs, but I seldom resort to Age as my excuse. I suppose I regard my occupancy of the window seat whenever possible as a badge of politesse. I do not want to pretend a preference for the blurred view of the world passing outside at the expense of an obviously needy traveller; I leave the aisle seat vacant whenever possible. And anyway, I’m usually glad of the company: I live alone; I do not wish to travel alone.  

In fact, I enjoy probing the mood my seat-mate for their views on whatever thoughts bubble to the surface of my mind. The other day, in fact, I was sitting opposite a mid-bus exit which sported a large yellow sign threatening a fine to those who might be tempted to stiff a ride by failing to tap their card at the door when they entered. The  amount of the financial penalty for failing to pay struck me as unusual: instead of a nice round, and readily calculable doubling of the usual fare, or perhaps a scary amount of $1000, the fine, posted in unmistakeable large letters, was $173.

Puzzled, I asked the first person who sat beside me what they thought of the figure. He was a large man whose bulk threatened to impinge on my half of the allotted double seating arrangement.

He stared at me, for a moment, unaccustomed I suppose, to having to expose his thoughts to a stranger. Then he unleashed a stertorous sigh and pretended he hadn’t heard me. This was probably because he was listening to music, but his earbuds were leaking sound and trespassing on my half, so I persisted more forcefully.

He pulled out the bud closest to me, and to compensate for the noise still in his rival ear, shouted that he didn’t know, and implied that he didn’t care either. Fortunately a seat became vacant across the aisle and he bundled his bulk across the aisle with a heavy sigh and left my world behind.

Of course, that day I had been travelling on a different bus than the one I usually take from the ferry, so I suppose there are different conventions that apply. I was only going to the dentist’s for the biannual clean-and-check, others were travelling to their lives. I decided to be more sensitive to the mood. For some, trust was not an option on a bus with different and possibly dangerous strangers on each trip they took to work each day; for me, it was merely a different experience.

I stared out of the dirty, almost opaque window at the people sitting on window sills or talking in little groups outside store windows whose steel grates still hadn’t yet been removed for the day. It seemed completely different from the world of trees and lawns which my usual #250 bus travelled each day from the ferry. There, people were happy to discuss things; here I was the anomaly, not them.

I was so busy inspecting the world outside that I barely noticed the aisle seat beside me filling up. Lesson learned, I ventured a closer look at the woman who had risked her safety by daring to sit beside a strange man. Clearly, she was unhappy that I was there, but there was nowhere else for her to sit, and perhaps I represented the least of other evils; other risks…

 A tiny wisp of a thing, she seemed extremely worried and kept nervously examining the content of her purse as if she was making sure she hadn’t lost anything, and that her valuables were stowed safely and unobtrusively in the little pockets that lined one side of the depths. Then, with a covert sidelong glance at my face to see what it was doing, examined what I thought might be her credit cards, although none seemed familiar.

Even though the bus was noisy, I thought I could hear her sighing as she fingered and unwrapped some crumpled papers she had hidden in the dark recesses of the purse, evidently trying to hide them from my eyes. I was beginning to dread having to squeeze past her whenever my stop arrived. She looked so frightened and suspicious of me I was afraid any rapid movement on my part might make her panic.

I decided to turn my head and continue to inspect the street scene out of my window; I thought that might reassure her. Actually, it was fortunate that I happened to see my stop was approaching -like I say, this trip was not one on which my eyes could relax. This was basically terra incognita for me; I only visited the dental hygienist once every 6 months or so, and then by invitation only. You can forget a lot of stuff on a bus you only take twice a year…

At any rate, as always happens eventually on even the unfamiliar buses, I had to excuse myself as I reached up to pull the cord and her reaction was immediate. She struggled to close and bolt her purse -that’s what it sounded like anyway- and actually risked grazing my cheeks with a quick glance. Surprisingly, there was no fear in them in that moment, and her hands stopped trembling.

As she strengthened her eyes’ perch on my face, I smiled at her and, in turn, her eyes twinkled as though she now realized, even if rather late, that I had never actually posed a threat. Then, she smiled back at me as I squeezed past her to the aisle.

Sometimes it’s the little things that really matter on a bus…

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gozzter

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