Ramblings of a WEIRDO.

“Sit here, Michael.”

Sometimes, there are those things that touch your heart. They go straight to the source, their touch instantly melting your being, making you believe again in a once-lost cause. These things happen once in a lifetime. Though they are rare, they aren’t impossible. I was lucky enough to witness one such happening today.

I was en route, homebound. I’d spent the morning with Can. I had taken a bus to Contra Costa College. I spent 40 minutes at my transfer point. I read on in my AP Literature-assigned book—The Things They Carried. Soon enough, a guy comes up to me. “Do you have any money? I need to catch the bus.”

“No, sorry. I use a bus pass.”

He digs in his pocket and flashes a pocketknife. My heart does a somersault. He proceeds to ask me again. “I really need to get on this next 74.”

“Sorry, I don’t carry any money with me.”

He stood for a moment, pondering. He seemed internally tormented. As if mentally weighing the pros and cons of a decision he had to make. He apparently decided against it as he decided to walk away. I tried to take my mind off of it by reading on. I read as O’Brien told in detail of his friends dying. I had damn-near given up on the hope that mankind still had the capacity to love. The bus arrived and I thanked the Heavens quietly.

I got on the bus and made my way to mid-bus. I stood there, holding on to the overhead railing with one hand, clutching my book with the other. I rode, listening to loud ghetto people in the back. They sang, shouted yelled, whooped, and hollered. They made noise like no tomorrow. And the bus driver said nothing.

Eventually, we arrived upon a stop where an old couple got off. They had been seated next to where I was standing, so I took the liberty of replacing one of them at the window seat. The bus moved on; the ghetto people continued making their noise.

We passed El Cerrito Plaza and a father got on the bus with his golden-haired cherubs. The man made his way down the aisle, daughter in arm and guiding his son to an empty seat. The man, noticing the lack of available seats, sat down first. “Sit here, Michael,” he said. He seated his daughter on his right lap, son on the left. Each carried a simple yellow helium-filled balloon with a simple “Bowlapalooza” or some cheesy name involving Bowling.

The man talked sweetly to his kids, trying to shelter them from the screaming and off-tune singing of the ghetto bunch in the back of the bus. He talked to them about bowling and how much fun they’d had. About getting ice cream afterward. Michael, at some point, turns his head. The sun gives away what his golden curls had concealed to well up till that point. It was a hearing aid. Michael was deaf.

I felt myself feeling sorry for him. Sympathizing. Lost in my thoughts, I was brought back to reality when Michael’s balloon came loose. He’d let go of it. It made its way to the front of the bus. Suddenly, an elderly woman—short, fragile—gets up from her seat slowly, bus still in full motion. She followed the balloon tirelessly as the balloon crept closer to the driver’s area, well beyond the infamous “stand behind the yellow line” line.

She did not give up. The bus still traveling at relatively high speed, she went past the line. The balloon was still out of her reach. She beckoned to it and the driver slowed the bus down to hand her the balloon.

Prize in hand, she made her way to deliver the balloon to its rightful owner. She clamped her hand tightly around the string of the balloon as her free hand jumped from seat to seat so that she may not fall. After what seemed like an eternity, she made it to Michael, handing over the balloon with a heart-warming smile.

Michael took it with joy. The father courteously thanked the woman for her efforts. She waved off the ‘thank you’ and returned to her seat. All this with the contrasting soundtrack blaring from the speakers of a rider that blasted harsh rap music about finding someone and killing them.

Nobody told her to go after it. No one told asked her to retrieve it. She willingly took the initiative to get up and make her way over the yellow line and stumble back. She did it to see Michael smile again. This act of kindness restored my faith in humanity. I was touched.