The Bus

 It was a simple journey, one of exploration really. We have a free bus pass you see, well this sets you free, to explore the town you thought you knew. Well when you get a bus pass a few years have passed, and things have changed!

 People come and go on a bus. Who is that old man with the stick? Who is that strange couple who speak a foreign language? Who is that black youth with the modern Jeans look, whose bum is somewhere round his knees! Are these from my town? A heavily built black man gets on with  a white stick. He has strange eyes. Can he see or not?

I sit there as the bus rolls along, in fits and starts as people get on and off. It has a dream like quality. I am sitting still and the world is passing by the window. There is a jerk, I come awake, have I been asleep?

I look out, there is a Portuguese patisserie! I recall the Algarve, are we in the same country. Just a minute, Halabal butcher, surely that’s Jewish? A strange crowd throngs the street, every colour under the sun. Have we taken a wrong turning somewhere. Maybe not the bus, maybe my life!

 I turn to look at my wife who as asked me to take this journey into the future. She is not there! A young girl is sitting next to me!

’Are you all right honey,’ she asked.

Her golden curls swing across her shoulders as she turns to look at me. She is barely dressed. Her skin is a white milky colour, smooth as silk. I am tempted to stroke it. But that is dangerous for an old man, you never know where it might lead to. She puts her hand on my knee.

’You look lost, can I help?’ I remember getting on the bus and reply weakly, ’I am going to the end of the line.’ ’And so am I,’ she says, ’We’ll go together,’ and she places her head on my shoulder.

 I wonder what she means, but I can’t resist that invitation. The bus turns an unexpected way, I recognise the road from my youth. I try to recall what signified the past, what did I do down this street, and then I see it, the graveyard! I look out as we pass the long wall with the railings on top.

At the gate I see them waving, no beckoning as if to come in. Who are they, two old people? Then it comes back to me. I had buried them here and forgot them. They are my mother and father! I am suddenly taken to my youth and their suffering, was I so uncaring. I  get a strange feeling of anticipation, were they expecting me to join them?

 The strange eyed black man rolls his eyes upwards and smiles as if he can see something that I cannot.

The bus jerks and the girls hand falls into my lap. I look down, the milky white skin has gone, this is an arm that has been around a long time. The curls are now white. Are we at the end of the line?  My wife smiles, ’Well here we are at QD, that was some diversion.’ Indeed it was!