Summer Solstice Party Bus - Metro 4
Your free pass for another short bus ride in Santa Cruz
The six-wheel side-show of Santa Cruz Metro riders has apparently begun celebrating the run up to the summer solstice. I find the #3 bus today is jam-packed and has an unusually festive atmosphere. Most everyone seems to be in a party mood — loud, boisterous, happy.
• A gorgeous Rastafarian sits alone a couple of rows back, dressed in a long white linen shirt, his mustache and beard, impeccably groomed. His mountain of dreadlocks is carefully tucked up under a red, yellow, green and black knitted cap as huge, colorful and round as a beach ball.
• A woman in a yellow check shirt diligently wears her face mask, but not over her nose and mouth, more as a sling for her chin. After diligently wearing a mask since 2019, it seems she has now entirely forgotten what it’s purpose is, somehow no longer clear on the concept. Time and habit.
• Two men with polished, shaven heads and sweet smiles sit side by side in their long dark red robes and sandals. Placid monks from our local Tibetan Buddhist community, they exude a quiet joy.
• A young barefoot woman, worn thin, brings her yellow lab on board. The old dog stretches out in the aisle and dozes off, legs sprawled in all four cardinal directions. He looks exhausted. She sleeps, too. I have to wonder just what it was they were up to last night. Everyone politely tip-toes over and around the old dog.
• A totally androgynous person stands behind the bus driver, and chats with her along the route, possibly another employee of the transit district — heavy-soled, steel-toed black boots; dark denim shirt and trousers; earrings, small neck tattoos, hair buzzed off to about 1/2 inch long. My brain’s trying to puzzle out if I am looking at a man or a woman. As she/he exits, the bus driver says “Bye, Sal, See ya later.” Sal. Still no clue, but the question is no longer important, is it? It is, after all, 2024.
• I see a woman who looks to be in her 70s, running to the bus stop, with her two grocery bags. It is amazing how much speed an older woman can generate if missing the bus is imminent. She definitely doesn’t want to wait an hour for the next one! She climbs the steps, breathless, face flushed, and runs her pass through the machine.
She smiles at an old man seated in the front section that is reserved for dinosaurs and wheelchairs, and raises her eyebrows.
Okay if I sit here?
You bet. Have a seat.
Thanks. Sorry about the bags.
No worries.
She settles in, one bag on her lap (celery and carrots on top), and one on the floor, tucked behind her feet.
You’re looking pretty happy today,” he says.
Yeah. Funny thing. I was just in the market and some woman stopped me and said she liked my sweater, said it was a good color for me, this blue. She caught me a little off guard.”
It’s a nice blue and it always feels good to get a compliment.
Tell you the truth, it always feels good to even be seen.
Ah, yes. We’ve reached the Age of Invisibility.
Um- hmm. I feel like a god-damned ghost most of the time.
Their conversation ends with that shared truth. And we do, you know — feel like ghosts, like living ghosts, perhaps older women more so than men, I don’t know. In our culture, after a certain age, we join the ranks of the Great Unseen, the Redundant and Irrelevant.
Sometimes I walk past a store window and I’m surprised to see my reflection.
I hope you’ll ride with me again on the Santa Cruz Metro. If you liked meeting a few of the riders today, you might try these:
Mayhem on Six Wheels - Metro 1
Characters in Search of a Story -Metro 2
Oh no, I was so busy people-watching, I missed my dang stop!
What do You write about the Character who writes about characters while riding the bus?