UBC BUS EXCHANGE
Eyebags, backpacks, packed leftovers — people stumble aboard the line of buses like zombies at nightfall, a stark contrast to the morning commute when the entire vehicle bustles with energy.
Well, I guess at any time of day, you’ll find someone napping in a corner or barely staying awake as their thumb scrolls across their screen, moving with a mind of its own. But at half past seven, every move I observe feels deliberate, every word I hear is a venture against the silence of the bus.
WESTERN PARKWAY
These days, I spend most of my time distracting myself so much I can’t think. There’s a strategy behind it — lots of scheming, lots of effort and skill. I put in my earbuds as soon as I sit down to study, and while I make dinner, I let a show run. As soon as I wake up, I pick up my phone and answer messages from friends and family to scroll the sleep away. On the bus ride home, when I can’t chase away the thoughts with my phone — its charge as depleted as mine — I people-watch.
HAMBER ROAD
Two girls, their hair up and slicked-back, are crouched together over a phone in one of the bus’s rows. They’re laughing loudly, unabashedly, one short video after the other flickering over the display. There’s a man across from them, his annoyance emanating from his skin. If we were in a cartoon, I think his irritation would be illustrated in little bursts of steam bouncing off his skin.
TOLMIE STREET
A guy steps on board holding a tiny black dog tightly in his arms. The dog is wearing yellow shoes, and I wonder why its owner put them on at all if it’s going to be carried around all day anyway.
4100 BLOCK
Another guy sits down with his face so close to the window I worry he’s going to knock himself out at a sharp turn. Every time the doors open, his head snaps to the entrance to catch the line of people stepping on — I imagine he’s expecting the love of his life to walk through them. An elderly woman in a massive floral coat steps on and he promptly smushes his face against the glass again.
ALMA STREET
A girl runs past my seat at the window. I feel sorry for her, out there in the cold rain, before registering that the bus has in fact not moved yet. The driver waits patiently. She gets on, mutters a quick “thank you” and the bus sets in motion again.
MACDONALD STREET
Shops and restaurants flash by, casting a warm light over the people seated or rushing by, unwavering.
YEW STREET
On days when I feel particularly tired and cold, I mute my brain with my Notes app, brushing past grocery lists and profound teenage poetry to a page titled, “This Made My Day.”
It harbours a bullet point list of brief passages from gloomy days when I could never get quite warm enough, of things that filled me with joy, even if just for a moment. “A little boy at the train station waved at the train I was on so excitedly his arm might’ve just fallen off,” one reads. And another, “Watched the episode of Downton Abbey where Carson proposes to Ms. Hughes” — sometimes, those moments come to me quickly.
BURRARD STREET
And sometimes they don’t.
FIR STREET
Sometimes it takes so long to think of something I pocket my phone again and watch the passersby a bit more. The boy across from me is sagged against the window, his mouth opened just the tiniest bit. I pity how disgusting the window will taste once he wakes up.
A couple sits across from the doors, not talking, just staring out the window. Their hands are interlocked but I notice they’re not holding one another’s properly — one of them just grips the other’s pinky. And I think this might be my moment for the day.
ALDER STREET
It’s quiet on the bus. I hadn’t even noticed the two girls stepped off at some point.
Alder Street is my favorite stop to get off at. I look forward to the walk, even though it’s steep and dark.
Between here and home is Choklit Park. There’s always a certain scent in the air and at least two couples perched together on the benches, their faces close together as they puff out the smoke of a shared joint.
What I like most is the view of downtown from up there. I only ever catch a glimpse, walking by quickly to not disturb the couples, but maybe that makes it more worthwhile — like glancing at a postcard stuck to a new friend’s fridge when you don’t want to be caught staring.
I wonder if it feels so good to watch strangers because they’re just postcards to me — maybe I simply see in them what I would see in myself if I ever turned toward my own reflection in the window.
Reaching Alder Street, I yank on the yellow cord and stand up, throwing my backpack over my shoulder.
I get off, pacing toward the park. My phone should have enough power left to listen to music on the way home, right?
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