Goin' Retro on the Metro

Riding the bus has been one of the most interesting, challenging, hilarious, and eye-opening experiences ever. I’m fairly certain that I could have written a post a day about my Metro bus adventures, and they would still be interesting to you. But I don’t have time to write a post a day. I barely have time to brush my teeth. Okay, that’s a lie. I do brush regularly, I swear. But I definitely don’t have time to floss! My dentist is probably so ashamed of me right now.

Enough about my dental hygiene though; I came to talk about my bus ride today. It was totally radical, man. Like, the moment I stepped on the bus, I felt like I was, you know, back in the 70s! Far out, right?

The bus had wood paneling on the inside. WOOD PANELING. In the place of the normal captain seats were . . . bench seats. Not just normal benches with usual blue-ish patterned fabric either. These were benches with brown-y orange upholstering that reminded me of the shag carpet that used to be in our basement. When I sat down, I looked up to make sure my bus driver wasn’t holding a guitar and singing about love and peace.

I don’t know why we had a super cool bus today. But I wish they would have told us ahead of time. Then I could’ve been prepared! I mean, I looked normal today in my business casual attire. If I had known, I would have at least worn a long, flowy skirt and maybe bought a peasant shirt at the thrift store, and maybe gotten one of those funky headbands that you wear around your forehead, and some of those weird, rounded sunglasses! And I’m sure everyone else would’ve dressed up to, because most of the people on the bus were actually alive in that decade! Then I would’ve definitely brought my Polaroid camera and taken pictures in the retro metro so I could tell everyone that I time traveled, to which everyone would reply, “Why did you travel to the 70s??”, to which I would reply, “I didn’t plan it, but the machine got stuck there . . .” And then everyone would have been confused about how I got back, and I could have made a very creative story about my mind power and how I fixed the machine and transported myself back to the present!

Oh man, it would have been AWESOME. But no, they didn’t tell us. So I sat there in my bench, only halfway transported to that decade of hippies.

It was still fun though.  And the benches were really comfy.

I love the bus. And peace. I love that too.

m®

Missing Hugs and Hamburgers

This is kind of early to write this post, because I still have several weeks before the next semester, but I got to see the Hartzlers yesterday . . so I'm writing it now. I’ve written about the Hartzlers before. They took me in when I had no family down at college, and they became my family. I feel most comfortable with them and if I have a choice, I always choose to spend time with them over just about anybody else besides my accounting book . . . and sometimes I forsake even that duty to go spend an evening with my adopted family. At the Hartzlers, I get my fill of hugs and kids and hamburgers.  They even let me nap on their couch. Now that’s love.

The thing is, going back to Bob Jones is going to be whole lot harder this year. Not because of money or my schedule, although those will contribute, but because my adopted family moved. They actually moved closer to my hometown, but miles and miles away from Greenville. Their wonderful, colorful, lovely house is no longer filled with the family that welcomes me. It’s empty. I feel rather lost and lonely without a family or a couch down there.

But you know what? I will always remember the one year that I got to spend as part of their family. My sophomore year of college will be crystallized in my memory as one of the best years because of them.  

Chris, I’m so happy that you have this amazing new job with great opportunities . . . I will miss your apple pie and coffee.

Sherri, you are so easy to talk to. I’m going to miss hanging around you while you clean the kitchen and watching the last 10 min of North & South with you. You know you still have a job looking at the Facebook pages of any boys that show interest in me; I need that pre-screening. 

Caroline, I love YOU, random citizen! I love that you quote movies with me. Would you believe that I will miss seeing you in your basketball shorts and t-shirts? You find that hard to believe. Well, would you believe your ponytail? No. Hmm, would you believe I’ll miss your laugh? I will. You’re a great little sister.

Erica, my little dancer, you move with such grace. I will indeed miss our dance routines and even helping you with multiplication facts. I’m still upset that you’re so good at the hula-hoop  though . . . But you remember, this contact represents you; my eye represents my eye; I’ve got my EYE on YOU, little miss, no matter how far away you are.

Juji  girl, you are the third born girl just like me.  I can hear your adorable little giggle in my head now. I’ll have to call occasionally so I can hear it when I’m feeling down and missing you.

Adam, you stole my heart the first time you told me I smelled yummy. I’m going to miss rubbing your head, although I’m sure you won’t miss that. Promise you’ll stay exactly the same until I come to visit you again . . . thanks. I’m going to miss the voluntary hugs that you gave so infrequently. It made them more special.

Yes, I’m going to miss them. But I am very happy for the new beginnings they have ahead of them. And I’m glad that our paths were able to cross so completely for one year. I’m talking as if I’ll never see them again, but I will! It just won’t be in their little house in Greenville. My trips home will probably also include an extra 3-hour drive to see the Hartzlers.

 So, my Thursday evenings this year will be filled with homework and harp practice instead of Wipeout and Barbie movies, but I’ll make it. God has something new planned for me this semester and I’ll be ready for it.

m® 

Dear Carl

The first time I saw you on the bus, I couldn’t see past your crocodile leather baseball cap and enormous gold rings on each finger. It may not have shown, but I was laughing at you on the inside. Then you started talking in your very loud voice, and I laughed a little harder.

The next time I remember you distinctly was when you yelled at me. I had my laptop on my lap, and you let me know that that wasn’t safe. You couldn’t let it go either. I tried to pretend I didn’t hear you through my headphones. And I didn’t close my laptop till you left on purpose. It irked me that you were trying to tell me what to do, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.

You always yell out a date whenever someone leaves the bus. I couldn’t figure out why you did that; I thought you were just weird. And getting kind of old and senile.

I heard you talking (how could I not? You were so loud) and telling someone that you were just going to ride the bus downtown and back again since you didn’t have to be home till 7:30. Snide remarks wanted to come out, but then I started thinking about that. And I began to wonder about you a little.

Then, yesterday, someone stopped to talk to you while I was sitting right behind you. Someone came to you, not the other way around like usual. He sat down across the aisle from you and wanted to know how you were. You asked him about his son. What is his birthday, you said. Four, twenty-nine, ninety-three, he replied. It took you a second, but then you said, Thursday! He was a Thursday baby. Then you sat back, satisfied. No, you sat forward again. What’s your next son’s birthday, you ask. One, six, ninety-eight.  Tuesday, you say after a moment. The man across from you must have seen my smile, because, well, I had just checked the calendar on my phone to make sure you were right. You were. According to your friend, you never miss. The man asked if I wanted to tell you my birthday. He used your name, Carl. That was the first time I had ever heard it. So I told you my birthday, and you told me that I was a Wednesday baby. Then a woman got up and left the bus, and you yelled out, Three, five, sixty-seven.

Then I knew. I knew that you weren’t crazy. Maybe a little autistic, but not crazy. You had found out the birthdays of all the regulars on the bus. You knew them by their birthdays and it was your way of identifying with them. You turned around and said to me, Oh good, you don’t have that laptop out. That’s dangerous. And then I knew something else. That you  must have an amazing memory for people, for dates, for . . . everything! You knew my birthday now and you would probably never forget it and every time I see you on the bus, your head will think “12-26-90, Wednesday.” You know what, Carl?  I almost cried right then, because while I had laughed at your wardrobe choices, your voice, and even your loneliness, you had been trying to connect with people. I had not bothered for one second to really even consider you, and now you knew more about me than I knew about you. You wanted to know my name and whether I was . . . right or left-handed. Carl, God used you to hit me upside the head with just how self-centered I am, and for just a few moments, I saw you through God’s eyes, to the person underneath all the stuff on the outside.

I used to roll my eyes every time I saw you on the bus, but now, I pray for you, Carl. I pray that more people like that man on the bus will give you a chance to shine. That someone is waiting for you at home, ready to take care of you. I pray that God will bless your bus ride. I pray that if I ever have the chance to talk to you again that I’ll be a blessing to you. I pray that God will give me humility to see through His eyes more often. I never thought that riding the bus to work would be such an experience. Thank you for being you, Carl. Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow morning on bus #142.

A different person after meeting you,  

Mareena