18 - on being a denizen of public transport

being familiar with strangers is one of the more bizarre feelings out there, i think.

beside the comfort of the smell of something as vast and as overwhelming as rain (so huge, and yet reaches you so gently).

or finding sand in your room (the explanation is this: unless you have a pet that requires such, finding sand in your room will be most uncommon, and your brain will instantly search your memory. the park, a month and a half ago. the beach, a month and a bit ago. that crazy amazing present, a month ago. you will stare at these one, two, maybe 5 grains of sand, embedded in some carpet, almost invisible; so, so, so small that it will strike you dumb - how on earth does a matter so small hold an experience so life-size?).

the first time i saw the lady, she was cleaning her feet with wet wipes. on the bus. the front seats on the top deck. and there was a questionable smudge of yellowish liquid on the front ledge where she had propped her feet up. not exactly the greatest thing to see in the morning. she had short, messy bright red hair. she was on the phone the whole time. i didn't recognize the language.

second time, a few days ago, i saw the hair again. i was in mid-sentence to sam and i stopped; my eyes grew wide. stared for a while. "ummm.. do you know her??" oh my god, sam, i think that is the woman i was telling you about once. who cleaned her feet on the bus.

this crossing paths was especially bizarre because i first saw her on a 93 bus. a few days ago it was the 154. i hear sam's stories of taking the train to university, how he stands on a particular part of a platform to get on the same carriage to get off near the exit at the platform he alights at. how some people have this same strategy, and how the same people, all strangers, inhabit the same carriage on most days. some even sit on the same seat.

it makes the world feel so small and so big at the same time. i know your face, where you sit and where you get off on weekdays. but i know not your name. i wonder what it must be like for bus drivers. i always try to smile at them. every now and then i will recognize the face at the wheel. i wonder if they remember me. most common stops: gander green, st. anthony's hospital, wimbledon, morden station, morden tram stop.

once, i darted out of a tram to return to a lady her oyster card wallet. it had been left on the seat where she had been, the seat opposite to which i had just sat down. i had 2 seconds to think. let the doors close, and give the card wallet to the police station? or run out and hand it to her? it was the most exhilarating thing to be standing on a platform i wasn't meant to be at, that i had never been to. if not for this stray wallet, i would have had no reason at all to be there. the air seemed that bit more fresh. trees a little more green. the wooden fence looked novelly old. "God bless you," she said. and headed home. i thought of her and watched her as she left. did she have a family? she was carrying some groceries. maybe mid-40s. stout, and a bit of a waddle. tired, dark skin. but her eyes had lit up. I never lose anything, she said. "and you still haven't."