Bus Report #1061
This morning I walked down Clement to the bus and watched the obsessively religious mom and her daughter walking slowly down the street ahead of me.
It was early. Too early for the daughter to be going to school. She had her backpack on, and the mom carried three bulging tote bags. I hoped the mom was just being weird, that they still have a place to live and were only out early to get some breakfast.
I worry about them, especially about that little girl. You know I have for a while. There's nothing wrong with religious conviction but there is something wrong with the mom. It is sad. She mutters to herself, only seems to talk to her daughter in scripture or verses.
I was a half a block behind them for a while. Wondered if there was anything I could do to help them. But I don't even know their names, so really, there's nothing.
That little girl.
Oh, how I worry.
Even when I'm not in a rush, I'm a fast walker. I eventually caught up to them, smiled and nodded good morning, and kept walking.
The mom didn't acknowledge me at all, just kept talking to her daughter about Jesus. Her daughter nodded and said yes, and looked up at her mom.
I don't pray, but this morning I thought about the daughter. And now, the day almost over, I'm still thinking of her.
The bus was on time. The mom with the two sons, the humorless man who works near my office, and a handful of homeless men with their dogs were my fellow passengers this morning. The ride was uneventful, quicker than usual.
As we turned onto Market way up high on the hill, the lights of lower Market blazed bright.
A string of beads that twinkled in the early morning still-darkness.
The sky was blue-peach. A sign of warmer weather.
In Potrero I waved to the guys at the garage.
To Leon, headed outbound in his bus and to Keith headed inbound in his.
The quiet man who sleeps in the park shuffled down the sidewalk carrying a cardboard box in his arms.
He's looking thin these days. More out of it than usual. I hope he is okay.
It was early. Too early for the daughter to be going to school. She had her backpack on, and the mom carried three bulging tote bags. I hoped the mom was just being weird, that they still have a place to live and were only out early to get some breakfast.
I worry about them, especially about that little girl. You know I have for a while. There's nothing wrong with religious conviction but there is something wrong with the mom. It is sad. She mutters to herself, only seems to talk to her daughter in scripture or verses.
I was a half a block behind them for a while. Wondered if there was anything I could do to help them. But I don't even know their names, so really, there's nothing.
That little girl.
Oh, how I worry.
Even when I'm not in a rush, I'm a fast walker. I eventually caught up to them, smiled and nodded good morning, and kept walking.
The mom didn't acknowledge me at all, just kept talking to her daughter about Jesus. Her daughter nodded and said yes, and looked up at her mom.
I don't pray, but this morning I thought about the daughter. And now, the day almost over, I'm still thinking of her.
The bus was on time. The mom with the two sons, the humorless man who works near my office, and a handful of homeless men with their dogs were my fellow passengers this morning. The ride was uneventful, quicker than usual.
As we turned onto Market way up high on the hill, the lights of lower Market blazed bright.
A string of beads that twinkled in the early morning still-darkness.
The sky was blue-peach. A sign of warmer weather.
In Potrero I waved to the guys at the garage.
To Leon, headed outbound in his bus and to Keith headed inbound in his.
The quiet man who sleeps in the park shuffled down the sidewalk carrying a cardboard box in his arms.
He's looking thin these days. More out of it than usual. I hope he is okay.
posted by Rachel at 8:16 PM
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