Waiting For A Ride

I was on that same shed where everyone else was waiting. So many buses has come and gone. And I’m sure, every one of them has a nice seat waiting for me but I refused to ride. For someone like me who’s looking from the outside, the buses are already full of weary travellers who are just anxious to get to their destinations. And I wouldn’t want to fill an empty space between two irate passengers. Despite the thinning of the waiting crowd, I didn’t want to budge on my seat on that concrete bench. I let them all go before me. I told myself I wouldn’t, wouldn’t ride on any bus. I’ll stay put.

My brother used to tell me that he usually waits for the “good-looking” bus – a vehicle worthy of his well-groomed self with soft-cushioned seats, loud speakers, and working window locks. And even though he’ll be running late for school, he doesn’t mind waiting for that kind of bus. What kind of bus am I waiting for? I’m not looking for anything in particular. There’s one thing though – comfort. I need to feel a sense of familiarity. When I step on the first platform, I should feel protected and safe – that feeling I usually have with old friends and acquaintances. Never mind if it’s old with manually-operated windows. Never mind if it went through clouds of dirt and grime as long as I feel comfortable boarding it. I don’t want to take chances on new ones. I’m not too trusting of new cool-looking buses. They’re STRANGERS.

Still, there were familiar buses which I let pass by me. I was hesitant. I always felt they stopped for someone else. Not for me. Should I flag down the next one? Well, I wasn’t even looking at the road so how will I know if there’s a bus heading my way? I usually fix my gaze on people’s backs to know who have gone. That just goes to show that I didn’t care if I had a ride or none at all. I can stay in this shed forever for all I care.

I’ve always believed that I’m good at waiting. That if there’s one thing I do best, it’s really waiting. I get pissed off sometimes nevertheless, I still wait. But people naturally gets tired of waiting. And sometimes, I feel like I’m not waiting for anything anymore so what’s the point of waiting? But I don’t want to go just because I got tired of it all. That I’ve given up. That all have left and I was left alone. I don’t want to board a bus only to shout “mama para!” a minute or so on the ride. Now, which step should I take? Flag down the next bus or stay put?

While fidgeting on my seat, I felt a grumble from afar. Some people are already standing from their seats. This is the first time my head swung into the road’s direction. Yes, it’s foggy but I can see it. My grandfather taught me how to distinguish a bus from a truck by looking at the color and number of lights peeking through the thick fog. It’s definitely a bus. When I caught a glimpse of it, I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t know if I was the one who flagged it down or it stopped before me. The next thing I knew, I was in front of its open door. Everyone behind me was waiting for my move. C’mon, move! Make a choice.

Did I step inside or did I step aside?

~ by greensalad on August 12, 2006.