Marta ~ May 17

 

Fred long ago taught me his basic tenet of bus ridership. We're talking the Kingston/New York bus here, the one he took once a week, on a Thursday, to see clients in the city and give a workshop there in the evening. When I moved in I joined him on these weekly ventures.

 

So the first tenet of riding the bus, and this pertains particularly to the ride back from Port Authority, which will be crowded because it's late in the day: you secure two empty seats, side by side, sit by the window, put your backpack on the empty aisle seat and start eating something messy and, preferably, a bit smelly. A tuna fish sandwich for instance. No doubt you have already divined the intention.

 

I did all this last night, though my sandwich was not smelly, simply cheese and lettuce, but before the doors had even closed I heard a woman's voice violating all bus etiquette. "I'm so sorry," she said. I looked up and said cheerily, "Of course!" and swung my pack onto the floor to make room for her. 

 

About my age. Glasses. A plain face. Long dark hair sprinkled with gray. Well, maybe she could pay her way by being a good conversationalist and helping to make the two-hour trip whiz by. I leapt right in, bent over my sandwich. "I went in to meet a friend today," I said. "We were supposed to meet at the Met, but it was so crowded I could not bear it and we left."

 

"Yes, it is pretty much like that these days," the woman said sympathetically, explaining that she was a member and therefore didn't have to wait in line (It didn't used to be like that! You used to be able just walk up those steps and go right in!).

 

She had gone in to the city because she had a show in Chelsea. Oh, that's interesting, and she showed me pictures on her phone of the sculptures, many multi-colored, all nicely crazy abstract creations. I liked them though I can't say they really moved me. But that's okay. Abstract sculpture is a bit rarified.

 

And what do I do? "I'm a writer....I call it Real Life Writing. I prefer that to 'memoir.'" 

 

She laughs. "Everybody is writing their memoir these days." Which is why I don't like the word because mostly what people are writing is not what I mean. Her husband is writing his. How is he going about it? Well, he's an essayist so it's primarily a series of essays. 

 

"I wonder what happened in the trial today," she says. We're in the tunnel now. And I let the conversation go. We spend the next two-plus hours on our own, side by side. She gets off first and generously says a nice farewell.