Just another man on a bus

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It’s early morning and dark when I leave the house to walk to the bus stop, but I make it there without incident. I am vigilant when I walk: I move with confidence and intention, eyes open to who and what is sharing the sidewalk with me. 

When I arrive at the stop, a few other harmless commuters are already there. We wait together, in silence, just wanting the bus to pick us up, which it does. We are in that pre-work state of automatic motion that takes us from home to office or school. We are together on the bus, but in co-existence not cooperation. 

Empty seats are few, but I spy one towards the back. Or, rather, part of the seat is empty. A good portion of it is being occupied by the person spilling over from their side of what should be an equally shared space. 

Nonetheless, I sit down, not wanting to not claim my rightful spot on the bus, which is a public good for all. I settle myself onto the seat, trying to inch my way onto my full allotment of the seat. The other person is unmoved, doesn't move. 

That other person is…can you guess? A man. With ear buds in, in his own world on this bus. 

I sit more firmly in the small amount of room available to me. I move my elbows out to take up, at least, the air around me, though not the seat beneath. In my head, my usual monologue is running: Why is this always the way? Does he not know? Can he not tell? Has he no idea how to participate in public space? 

Um, no. He has no idea. 

The bus approaches what seems to be his stop. I can tell because he begins to shuffle and move his body over, towards the aisle. I am in his way. He doesn't look at me. He presumes my compliance. And I give in. I take myself from that spot and move to the front of the bus to claim a fully empty seat for the last few minutes of my ride. 

And I think to myself: He is just another man on a bus, moving through the world, oblivious. And I am just another woman on a bus, moving through the world, eyes open, senses alert, elbows sharp — and stepping into the space, claiming my room. 

Comments

  1. AnnJanuary 21, 2019 at 7:16 AM

    I look forward to your ever-thoughtful essays. Thank you

    ReplyDelete
  2. Susan HealdJanuary 21, 2019 at 6:00 PM

    I love this writing! Would this, however, have been a time to say "no"? To demand that he engage with you, notice that there is someone sharing his seat and ask you--preferably politely--to let him out? Probably not; too dangerous. Still.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Susan HealdJanuary 21, 2019 at 6:00 PM

      Still can't seem to get the blog to acknowledge me! Susan Heald

      Delete

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