The Girl on the Bus

It is a bitterly cold morning as I make my way up the street from my house to the bus stop three blocks away. I'm on the phone with my mom and my fingers are freezing and my scalp feels cold. I hang up, put on my head gear, cross the road to the bus stop and wait. After a few moments, anticipation gives way to desperation. "Please come soon, please", I beg the bus. My lips are frozen, my head feels heavy, my nose has begun to run and the person next to me is coughing.

The bus comes, crowded. No space to sit down. I push my way to the back, my ears ringing from someone's loud and persistent laugh. "Ka-ha, ka-ha, ka-ha", laughs this person, in a weird cough-laugh hybrid. It's a young, black girl on the cell phone, with a baby on her lap. I stare at the baby. The baby is asleep. Not a muscle twitches in his face, which looks like it has been carved out of beautiful smooth wood. I wonder, is that a real baby? Then, I see a small movement behind the closed eye lids. REM sleep! I wonder what he could be dreaming about.

His mother continues her conversation and her jarring laughter. She tells the person on the other line, "Oh baby, I haven't laughed like this in ages" and I think meanly, "Why did you have to start now?" In my stuffy nosed, heavy headed state, I gather much energy in feeling resentful and I pour it all out on this woman, with her head of stiff, glossy black hair that couldn't possibly be real.

I realize that I have seen many young black girls with and without babies on the bus, but never have I seen one who is pregnant. Where do these girls hide themselves when their bellies become huge? Do they not travel during that time? Do they suddenly come in possession of a car, which they lose once the baby is born? And they always seem to have the obligatory girlfriend who helps them out with the baby, carrying the stroller and the blanket and the bottle and such.

"I have had a great morning so far. Don't you go round ruining it by saying things like that", she suddenly yells into the phone. She yanks the phone off her ear, turns to her companion (the one holding the stroller etc), says something and then SHE, in turn, starts kaha-kaha- kaha-ing loudly. The first girl goes back to her phone and starts again.

So many older, white women turn and shush girls of other races when they talk too loudly in the bus. But in the presence of this overconfident, overbearing black girl, everybody is silenced. There are looks and glares and nudges, but there are no souls brave enough to tap this girl on her shoulder and ask her to SHUT UP. Why don't you do it, I ask myself. No effing way, I answer. She'll start yelling at me and then I'll die of embarrassment.

The baby makes a sudden move. How does he feel about his mother? He is able to sleep quite soundly through the racket that she's making, so he must be used to her. I imagine him growing up, 2, 8, 13, 25 years of age. How will she appear to him then? Does she resent him now for taking away her freedom? Does she think of him as a nuisance, to be shoved into other hands while she's busy on the phone? Did she take her prenatal vitamins regularly when he was still in her womb? Did she remember not to drink alcohol or stand too close to people who were smoking?

I feel depressed at these thoughts. The baby seems perfectly fine to me. So many babies are perfectly fine, regardless of the things their mothers do or had to do. Didn't my own ancestors give birth without what we today would call adequate prenatal care? And if they weren't successful in this endeavor, what did it matter, two or three generations down the line? It was sad perhaps, but a baby lost here or there didn't make a huge difference to the relentless pace of humanity.

My mind races down this spiral of dark thoughts, an artery throbs in my head, my eyes burn and my nose feels swollen up. "God, I'm going to be sick", I moan to myself.

The bus stops. A whole lot of students with large book bags descends. The air clears. I yank my winter hat off my head. Immediately the world becomes better. The throbbing stops, the burn in my eyes disappears and I am able to breathe. Jeez, I really need to get something a little less tight for my head, I think.