Bus ride
January 12, 2009
Buses are emotional places. Unlike the Tube, where the close proximity of human flesh leaves no room for flighty feelings, only base disgust at the bodily: sweat, snot and spittle.
Buses have a sense of purpose, a gentle tumble of transition, a knowing sense of time and place. Travel in real time, no same-same-same delay of tunnels and signal failure.
Last month on the bus, I sat next to someone and it felt like you next to me. Your thigh against mine, a pressure, a comfort, a knowing-you-were-there, a safeness in the shared space. And then they got up and I ached. Ached for you.
