IronicJust a block away from Emma's school lies a series of old single-floor cinderblock apartments. I use to have some college friends that lived in these scummy dwellings that resemble early 70's government housing. Abbie use to live in the apartments across the street with Gina. In college, it was a fine neighborhood. As homeowners and adults now, it is horrifying. The graffiti is everywhere and there is always an overflow of parked vehicles on that east side of the street. Debris, empty boxes, and stray toys are strewn about, not showing ownership to any specific household. Iron bars over the windows and doors have become more common on these olive drab stone buildings. Some home improvement has occurred to a couple of the homes, including an explosion of tropical ferns and trees that seems to enclose the tiny front yard of one with a rod-iron fence. I assume it is an attempt to hide the dry brown and dirty yards of the next door neighbors who are most likely renters.
During the summer, this area is flourishing with half clothed, unbathed children running and screaming every which way. Wide and short mexican women usually stand in the doorways emotionless watching the seemingly out-of control youngsters.
Slow Down, Children Present warnings and low speed signs are reinforced during this half mile stretch of low-income housing for good reason. I always fear an unexpected lunge of a chicito from behind one of the countless multi-color Ford Escorts or pastel station wagons, and curse the young drivers that race by in the opposite direction. Soccer balls kicked too hard, fly into the street with the goalies in tow. "Where's the supervision." I thought every time before I encountered the "Bus Stop Goodbyes."
I discovered the "Goodbyes" about a month or so ago. The temperatures outside were already getting low. The warm breath could be seen in the dry cold. I dropped Emma off about 15 minutes later than usual; about 7:45 a.m. I let an oncoming school bus go ahead of me. The bus turned right. I turned right. The bus stopped in the middle of the green homes, where dozens of people, were standing and waiting for it's arrival. I was sort of in a daze, not paying a lot of attention at first. Then when I realized that another five minutes had passed and the bus still had not moved, I began to observe the phenomenon.
There were babies in the arms of mothers and grandmothers and fathers and grandfathers, wrapped in heavy blankets with hand-knit hats. There were smiles and hugs being distributed to each and every boy and girl before they boarded the school bus. The elderly that could not walk to the curb waved joyfully, almost tearfully at the young passengers through the foggy windows.
Although the insistent blinking of the rear lights of the yellow bus before me created an annoying delay of time, this large group of families continued to systematically hug and kiss their school children, unaware and unconcerned with the growing traffic on this single street. Laughter and love could be heard through the hum of my defroster. Minutes later, the last student boarded the idling bus, the doors closed, and the slow acceleration began. Curbside the group loudened. Smiling, waving children could be seen bouncing up and down on the bench seats from inside their transport. Smiling, waving adults could be seen with frozen red checks and noses sharing in the excitement.
The bus continued on its route as the hurdling masses began to return to their dirty brick homes, sending departing, seemingly cordial words to each other as they departed. Most of the men handed the infants to women and gave kisses as they collectively merged to choice vehicles along the road. Their day was beginning, just as mine.
I thought that maybe it was just a special occasion. After the second and third witnessing, I realized it was; it was the specialness of another day, a ritual of love, expectations, hope, and appreciation that most do not ever express. I sat so high, pitying the situation of these poor people, when their understanding of importance is displayed continually, not just for special occasions. Of course, this is just as much a wide generalization as my thoughts of them before the "Goodbyes". Sitting in my car watching this strange scene does not make me aware of their reality, but I much prefer the idea I have conjured up over my previous one.
