The Boy on the Bus

Last week, I had a wonderful mini-vacation in Montreal. How nice it was to just take off on a Tuesday for a mid-week getaway! I booked in at 'Chez Turgeon', Matt and Elise's place. Although I told them I would look after myself during the days when they were working, they took very good care of me. They planned a couple of art experiences that I would never have found myself, and that are always a highlight of time spent with them. Also, every meal and every restaurant was fabulous - something else that we anticipate and appreciate each time we visit Montreal. I loved every minute of the time with Matt and Elise, and thoroughly enjoyed this little 3 day holiday. I'll do it again!

It was my first time taking the Megabus. I booked a Wednesday 10 a.m. departure from Toronto and a return trip Friday evening. Trish and I actually drove down to Toronto on Tuesday after school as Trish was attending an OFL event on Wednesday. It was a pretty fun evening - Trish, Jeff and I went out for dinner at Bannock and had a crazy time, pretty typical when the 3 of us get together! We stayed at the Sheraton on King, so I had a short walk to the bus station in the morning to begin the trip to Montreal. I had a new book to read - I chuckled that this 'girl on the bus' would be reading The Girl on the Train (awesome mystery btw). I also had my iPad (since the Megabus has wifi), knitting, a big coffee, and snacks. I booked a good seat upstairs, near the front, with extra leg room and a little table. The bus was quite empty, so I had no seat-mate. I was all set and was pretty excited.

We had just left the station when the driver came to a rather abrupt stop on the street. I was upstairs so I couldn't see what was going on but I heard everything very clearly. Someone had obviously waved the bus down as it was pulling out. The driver stopped and opened the door, allowing another passenger to board, however, as he did this, he addressed this person in a very angry way, informing them that the bus leaves at 10, that they should have been at the station by 9:45, that they're lucky the bus stopped and how dare they flag a bus down on the street, bla, bla, bla. The driver was very rude and belligerent. His words were demeaning and insulting. I had no idea who this passenger was but I felt terrible for them. There was no need to speak in that tone, nor to be so aggressive. The new passenger was eventually able to speak and in a very quiet, gentle, deep, male voice, with a lovely African or Caribbean accent, said, "I'm so sorry to hold you up. I just arrived on another bus which came in very late. I apologize." That was it. The driver said nothing in response. The new passenger started up the stairs and the bus left the station.

I was sitting right by the stairs, so as he arrived on the 2nd floor, he turned and looked in my direction and smiled, before he chose an empty seat a couple ahead of me. He had a warm, kind smile. He was a big man. A big, black man. My immediate gut reaction on seeing him was that the jerk who was driving the bus, the privileged white jerk with the big mouth, might have been exhibiting a bit of racism in his treatment of this man. I couldn't help staring at the new passenger and wondering how he felt. How often he had experienced this kind of treatment. How he can still smile after being spoken to in that manner. Whether he had even noticed what a jerk the driver was. I was still pondering all of this as we pulled in to the Scarborough Town Centre for our first stop. There was quite a long line of people waiting to board the bus, so the driver asked that if anyone had moved to one of the reserved seats that they themselves had not reserved, they should move to the non-reserved seating to make way for the new people. At this request, the new passenger got up, came back to me, and let me know that he had booked the seat right beside me. This explained why he had looked my way when he first boarded the bus. I also understood that he had chosen to give up a good seat with extra leg room, rather than disturb me. I had clearly established my 'territory' as all my stuff was spread out over the 2 seats. At this point though, I scrambled to gather it all up. It was done hastily so I ended up with my jacket, purse, knitting, travel bag and everything I had piled on my knee so that my new seat mate could sit down. He apologized and agreed that we'd wait til others sat down then perhaps move so we could each have more space.

However, then we started to talk. In the few minutes that it took for the passengers to board, we became engaged in such rich conversation that neither of us was inclined to move. In fact, I sat all the way to Kingston - 2 1/2 hours - with all my stuff on my knee. It started with introductions - he asked where I was travelling and let me know that he had never been to Montreal but would love to on his next trip. He wanted to hear all about it, who I knew there, how often I had been etc. etc. He was travelling to Kingston. When I asked if he lived there, he let me know that he was visiting Canada from Nigeria. That beautiful accent is Nigerian. He was younger than I initially thought - 27, just a boy, younger than 2 of mine, although he had life experiences and possessed wisdom far beyond his years. We learned about each others' families, jobs - past and present, goals and aspirations. We talked religion, spirituality, politics, core values and beliefs. He asked probing questions and was genuinely curious and caring. He told me about his sky-diving, other 'bucket list' items as he called them, and his extensive travelling. I asked a lot of questions about his upbringing in Nigeria and his travels around Africa. He told me all about the changing political climate in his home country. He works for Africa's biggest bank, but he's a proud Nigerian and has political aspirations. Maybe he'll be president some day. He was utterly fascinating. And kind. And sweet. The time flew by.

I never learned the name of the boy on the bus. Although I felt a profound connection to this intriguing person, I will never see or hear from him again. Some day, I expect to see him in the news. I hope I'd recognize him, but I don't know. I will certainly never forget meeting him.

As we said our good-byes, there was a big part of me that wanted to quickly exchange Facebook info. But I didn't and nor did he. We thanked each other for the meaningful time spent ... and parted.