Today, bus 89. It was packed. Even a few elderly women did not find seats - a vertitable sacriledge.
Stopping at the station "S�nat," a woman in a flamboyantly red hat with a feather sticking out of it (yankee doodle?) jumped onto the bus. Under the extravagent hat was a mass of jet-black hair in a loose, creative rendition of a bun. Her make-up was wild - thick black eyelashes, deep purple eye shadow, an eccentric red around the lips. Her black, multi-layered dress swirled around her feet as she hopped aboard. Despite her quick, strong movements, her wrinkles indicated that she was in her early 70's. Had she not been crazy and on a bus, she would have made an excellent stage actress.
With her entrance came the commotion. In a voice that made me think someone was dying right there on bus 89, she cried "I have to get to the back of the bus!" as she rammed her way through the sardine-like mob of commuters. She continued proclaming at an uncomfortable volume, "Please, move! I have to get to the back! Oooh!" Her final yelp was like a whimpering ghost as it makes its final exit: the urgent voice that echoes through corridors and haunts children in nightmares.
In her wake she left mixed stares and stifled giggles. The young, boisterous woman in front of me made some smart remark. The old man in tweed to my left looked at me with a curious combination of bewilderment and concern. The elderly pair of sisters to the right just chuckled to one another.
Once this wildly dressed misfit reached the back of the bus, she began incoherently explaining the state of things to those around her. A soapbox psychobabble flowed from her at an astonishing rate and volume. Her gestures and manner were a bit violent, which concerned a young mother sitting with her small child next to where the woman was barking out some bus-related story. The mother switched seats with her son as gracefully as possible.
The gushing river of words continued for two stops. As the bus driver pressed the gas as if to pull away from the second stop, he was halted by another harrowing cry from the Back of the Bus. "No!!!! No!!!! I must get off the bus!!!"
She literally began flinging people - old, young, weak, strong - as she groped her way down the small bus aisle. She grabbed the arm of the young woman in front of me (making smart remarks again) and pushed her backwards into me. We were both surprised at the force with which those wrinkly, spotted hands propelled the startled young woman. As I helped her recover, she yelled "Good riddance!" just as Ms. Back of the Bus jumped expertly and disturbingly gracefully off the step.
When she landed, she did a dramatic and exagerated half-turn on her heel, snapped her arm into the air like a flamenco dancer, tossed her head back in exultation and catapulted herself toward her future.
As the doors closed, the entire bus laughed - hesitatingly at first and then uproariously. Strangers commented to one another, a few mumbled sentences exploring the extent of the woman's insanity.
I just smiled. Something about that red and black flurry of psychotic energy just reminded me how much I love living in the city - and all its inhabitants.
I think that's the best line I've read in ages - 'if she hadn't been crazy and on a bus, she would have made an excellent stage actress.'
Lovely.
that rocks my face off. i love old people that happen to be a little crazy ...
This one was really fucking crazy, though.
Remember my entry a few days ago about marriage and how I'll just have to wear an eccentric hat? I wouldn't even wear one as eccentric as hers. And I'm willing to try *almost* anything.
Regardless, makes for a unique post if nothing else.