To the man on the #6 bus this morning who looked like a Pekingese
I got on the bus near Killingsworth with half a dozen other people. The driver jokingly told me to start over after I dumped two extra pennies in the farebox – I told him it was his tip; he is one of very few that will ever get a smile out of me.
You were already on the bus when I boarded, which I only realized later, once you got off and unloaded your bicycle from the front rack.
I noticed you after Alberta Street. You were sitting in one of the side-facing front seats, hugging your oversize messenger bag in your lap. You looked uncomfortable wedged in between the obese black woman and that blonde chick reading a book, perhaps even irritated or maybe just afraid. Nervous?
It was a crowded bus. It was, in fact, the first time I have ever ridden the #6 and had it stop at EVERY SINGLE STOP. However, this did not bother me much, as I had a clear line of vision to you, and not once did you ever notice me staring at you. Which I did, almost consistently, until you left the bus.
Now don't take offense to the Pekingese thing. Shit – it's not like I like the little yippers. In fact, I hate dogs. But how can I say it: you have a very unique look; attractive enough to capture my fancy for the full 18 minutes of the bus ride. Caucasian, yes. Brown curly hair, shortish, poking out beneath that cute Dublin-in-the-1920s style of cappie. But your profile – sort of flattish features – a small, pug-like nose, a slightly protruding lower jaw and a more than slightly protruding chin; definitely a different genetic makeup than my own European parentage, leaving me with one of those "strong" German noses. The contour of your jaw reminded me a lot of that guy I once dated in Flagstaff.
I wondered about you, wondered where you had come from, and where you were going for the day. Did you just come from Vancouver after spending the night with an ex-girlfriend? You looked spiffy tidy – were you on your way for a job interview? Nice woolen plaid overcoat, black jeans, Converse sneakers. Oh, how I dig men who wear Chuck Taylors!
Around the Broadway/Weidler area you stood up with your back to me. I checked out your bum, and looked at your shoes again. You slung your oversize messenger bag over your shoulder and I noticed the strap was clasped with a car seat belt buckle. I thought that was very cool. I thought you were going to get off the bus to make a run for the Blue Line Max that had just rolled in, but then you sat down in another seat.
You finally did get off, just south of Burnside, and you walked your classic blue city bike toward the fruit market. I assumed you were going to buy some excellent produce, but then you suddenly flew by on your bicycle, past the bus. I lost sight of you after that and went on my way.
Just wanted you to know that I liked you, even if only for just a bus ride. And I hope I never see you again because I love my partner. Usually.
Your 18-Minute Admirer on the bus