TO THE LIGHT
CHAPTER 2
I stare up into the white glow of the street light and watch the snow as it falls in slants. Closing my eyes, I let the huge flakes land on my face and my lips curl when they instantly melt against my warm skin. A handful of us stand there, trying to stay warm as we wait for the bus.
It finally arrives and I follow a woman with a sleeping toddler in her arms up the two steps. The rows remain empty, waiting to be filled, and I carefully choose my seat. I always pick the same one: the middle section, window seat, passenger side. It provides the best view of that one particular stop.
Sitting down, I situate my bag and as the warmth of the heated bus surrounds me, I loosen my scarf and remove my gloves. I stare out the window and watch the snow as the bus chugs closer and closer to his stop. I swallow hard when the bus makes its wide left turn. Straining my neck, I press my hat against the window, my eyes searching, and then I see him. Only today the funny hat has a light dusting of snow on top of it.
I quickly sit back against the seat, not wanting to get caught staring, but the window has fogged from my breath so I quickly wipe it with my coat sleeve. With my head facing straight ahead, I covertly keep my eyes on him through the window. He and several other people step up to the curb and I avert my eyes when he glances up in my direction.
The door opens and people start filing in. I notice that he's third in line and I try to not look at his face, I try not to search for another smile, but I feel a tugging towards him. I'm drawn to his kind smiles. Our eyes meet and there's a smile waiting for me and I welcome it. My lips curve upwards before I look back out the window again.
My periphery fails me this time so I wait. I listen for the bus doors to close and I feel the driver put the bus in gear. The man in the funny hat has surely found a seat by now so I feel safe in glancing around. I turn my head and my eyes widen. The man in the funny hat has chosen the aisle seat adjacent to me. I continue staring at him with what I'm sure must be an anxious, bewildered expression. He pulls a book from his backpack before he stows the sack under his seat. With a hard grip on his book, he closes his eyes tight, takes in a deep breath and blows it out slowly. He mumbles something unintelligible in what sounds like French before he turns his head towards me. His gaze is soft as it roams over every centimeter of my face and I can almost feel it like a gentle touch. My face blooms with warmth as he says "Hi," on a burst of air.
I freeze. It's such a small word. Only two letters. A simple salutation uttered by millions of people millions of times each day, but he's saying it to me which makes it different somehow. I swallow hard and quickly clear my throat before I mumble "Hi," in response. An exquisite grin wrestles free on his face and I gulp before I quickly look back out the window again.
I feel self-conscience now because of his close proximity and I don't know why I am so affected by a man who has only spoken one word to me. I force my gaze through the glass again but I see nothing because I am focused solely on the man I am not looking at. I turn my head just enough so that I can see him from the corner of my eye. He's reading, his back stiff, holding his book in two hands engrossed in his story and probably completely unaware of me and my slight obsession with him. He only said "hi" to me to be friendly and I know I've been reading more into his smiles than I should. Sighing, I look back out the window and make myself relax a little.
The bus makes its normal stops and he stands and lets a woman take his seat, moving somewhere to the back. An older woman sits down next to me and I want to glance back at him, but I resist. The bus pulls up to our final destination in the center of downtown and everyone begins to exit. I slip on my gloves, reach for my bag, and stay seated while I wait on the lady next to me. Glancing up, my breath quickens when I see him standing there. The woman hobbles out into the aisle, and smiling, he nods for me to exit next. I meet his eyes for the briefest second before I step in front of him.
I feel him behind me, very aware of his unseen presence. Holding onto the railing, I carefully maneuver off the bus, my boots landing in slush.
After taking a few steps, I stop when I hear a voice from behind me. It has a richness and warmth to it that I find appealing. "Have a nice day," he calls out.
I turn. He adjusts his funny hat and smiles, a truly genuine smile. I accept it and give him one in return although a bit smaller than his but still as true and I wonder how many smiles I have given him.
"Thank you. You too," I say softly before quickly dashing off to the right.
As I trudge towards work and my boots make splashing sounds in the slushy puddles, I consider the new four words he just said to me. I mechanically say those four words to each of my customers at the bank every day. I've probably said those four words thousands of times over the last year alone. Those words are so rote to me, so insignificant.
Looking up at the dark sky, the snow starts again and I smile. Those four words spoken to me by the man in the funny hat now have new meaning.
I tuck them away.
In a special place.
And I know that today, every time I say those four words to my customers, I will think of him.