written by Hearth

The shade was instantly cooling as he moved towards the inviting sound of the opening door. Leaving behind the exhaust that choked the sidewalk, he mounted the steps in front of him and the noise of the rush-hour outside faded with the hiss of hydraulics. It was almost like entering a quarantine area. The air, though probably the same temperature, felt heavier than outside and carried an abundance of familiar, human aromas. His cane clacked against the back of the next step sooner than expected as he reached for the pole at the top of the stairs. Finding it, feeling the build up of sweat and grime, was almost a comfort. He had reached one of the few places in his unseen world that he was well acquainted with. The driver, more at ease knowing the blind man had a regular pass than with asking to see it, didn't bother to look up as he rounded the pole into his usual seat beside the door and braced himself as the bus lurched out into the road.

There was a young girl in the seat next to him, as there was most days. It wasn't so much that he heard her, or even smelled her; he simply felt that familiar warmth emanating from her presence. He heard her shift uneasily as he sat, but when it seemed he didn't notice her she relaxed just a little. After years of travelling the same route he purposefully ignored her knowing that was what she preferred. Feeling a little sorry for her he thought, she seems so lonely, a feeling he related well to. Even though they never spoke, he felt an intangible link to her... like his bus trip would be lacking something were she not there.

He was also familiar with the passengers who sat further back in the bus given the time aboard they had shared. The regulars were quite distinct and identifiable -- their footsteps, perfume, a strong smelling coffee -- they each had something unique for him to distinguish them by. He never spoke to any of them, or they to him. Many experiences had taught him that as people try not to discriminate, or make a fuss, or stare... the problem that arises is that most act as though he doesn't exist, not just the disability. If it weren't for his cane, however, most of the passengers on this bus probably wouldn't notice that he was blind. Not that they would pay him any more heed.

As the bus pulled hurriedly to the curb at this next stop and someone departed, a strange new scent drifted up the stairs. He felt the bus pull into traffic again as his mind wandered further, to the world outside this little universe moving along the main strip. Occasionally a scent like this, or a sound, would momentarily catch his attention, creating an intrigue as to what unknown thing outside his current existence had caused such a phenomenon. He wondered briefly what he was missing by being unable to hear through the bus windows and over the growl of the engine. What other smells could be hiding behind the increasingly pungent bouquet of their mobile confinement.

It never occurred to him what he was missing by not being able to see, he was comfortable with that idea by now. Heh, comfortable within my own safe little sightless world, he almost laughed to himself as he realised he was just like the others on this journey. It didn't matter that their lives had little in common, or that they travelled to different destinations. For a brief moment each day they shared this bus, this experience. In this transitory interim they were the same.

The bus jerked to a stop with the door cranking open and some familiar footsteps climbed aboard. A pair of clicking high-heels, followed by leather soled men's business shoes that made a kind of padding sound on the bus steps. It was the "happy lady" and Patrick - he had only recently heard her calling him Patrick. Her perfume wafted through the bus mingling with the stale air. It reminded him of his aunt. He wondered why that lady always seemed so bright and cheerful, a trait his aunt also shared. The sound of her heals paused only momentarily as she paid the fare; he then felt her fluffy sweater as she brushed past him, squeezing her way down the narrow aisle.

Fond memories of a youthful summer in the countryside came flooding into his mind. His thoughts began to focus on a desire to introduce himself to this woman, as he had imagined doing so many times before. "Good morning," he would say, "my name is Andrew, how are you?" Oh, the number of times he had practiced that conversation in his head!

Lost momentarily in a blissful daydream, he almost didn't notice Patrick bump his leg as those leather soles padded towards the back and the bus started moving again. Sudden realisation struck him and he wondered, concerned, what had caused Patrick to miss the bus yesterday. Catching himself in such deep concern for a man he barely knew spawned another train of thought. He began to think of the other sounds that he knew so well from travelling this regular commute. Many of them had developed into characters, images in his mind of what he thought those people would be like. They helped him fill the lonesome hours of his travels and he had imagined conversations with more than a few. He considered them friends. Yes, they were all his dear friends, though they were not aware of it. Some of them had no names, but it didn't bother him. He imagined speaking with them the same way you speak to someone at a party who you know, but you just can't recall their name. Simply greeting them as 'friend' was enough.

Andrew now began to wonder if any of them thought about him... they could be thinking about him, looking at him right now, he wouldn't know. Deciding not to dwell on it, he moved his thoughts on to the other passengers. There were some new footsteps today, would they become regulars? Only time will tell, he thought, just as a large man grunted his way up from his seat and the bus found the next stop. The heavy footsteps were new, yet instantly recognisable. A grunt of gratitude towards the driver as he began to descend the stairs beside Andrew, who thought to call out "will we see you tomorrow?" He decided it best not to hold him up.

The bus driver had pulled over and turned to him calling "Hey Mr." The driver obviously didn't know his name, but at least he remembered Andrew's regular stop. He roused from his thoughts realising that the elderly gentleman who usually shuffled off at the stop before his was not on the bus today, so he had missed his exit cue. If the driver hadn't remembered he could have ended up anywhere. Another friend absent, he sighed, reaching for the clammy pole to pull himself up. As he cautiously made his way down onto the pavement, feeling disquiet at leaving his kindred, he couldn't help but wondering after the old man. He now saw the dependence he placed on these relationships. While they were on this bus, all the passengers shared an odd connection, an invisible bond that few noticed, and even fewer cared to admit. They all have a part to play, he thought, I wonder what mine is...