I was cross on the second bus and regretting declining a ride I’d been offered. The other riders were too close and it was too hot. The girl next to me was wearing too much perfume and kept elbowing me. More people piled on. One guy I see almost every day on the commute with his laptop sat in his usual spot, catty corner from me as I perched up in my corner and we exchanged glances. We never say hello.
A man and a woman got on the bus. She sat next to the laptop guy, and her companion sat across from her. She was probably in her late 30s and had a cowboy hat and was missing a tooth. A strong smell of cheap booze wafted over from both of them, not an uncommon thing on a Friday afternoon on the 44. I looked up from my book and saw that her face was twisted. She was in a deeply drunken state of grief.
She began talking about her father to her companion.
“He’s gone!” she said, her face crumpling. She started low at first, speaking seldomly, then raised her voice and spoke more as if she wanted to hold the whole bus captive to her grief. She began telling laptop guy about her father, who had recently died.
“What’s your name?” she asked him.
“Sean,” he replied.
“Sean! That’s my brother’s name,” she said, pointing at her companion across the way. “Two Seans!”
She had moments where she would sit quietly, or even smile. She sincerely thanked the Sean next to her for listening.
“My brother and I are going to a powwow,” she said. “You ever been to one of them?” Laptop Sean shook his head. “Last time we went to a powwow it was in Olympia, and THAT Sean got LAID!”
Her brother turned his head to the side and reddened. “Shhh,” he said, futilely.
“Well you did,” she said.
The topic moved to a horse her father had given her as a gift.
“I ain’t never put a bridle in my horse’s mouth. You can’t control an animal like that.” She looked around the back of the bus. “She’s wearing a nice dress,” she said, nodding to a woman standing next to her wearing a wild print.
“That horse was a stallion! When I had to get on him, he would get down like this,” she dipped her head low and put an arm out, indicating a horse that was bowing. “My daddy hated that horse. His name was Mr. Motherfucker!”
I laughed out loud at this and she smiled at me, the gap in her teeth winking at me. She soon turned serious again.
“MABEL! I will never leave you,’ he said!” Mabel said, crying softly for a minute. Then she laughed. “Sean, this is Sean. We are going to a powwow.”
I pulled the bell for my stop.
“MY DAD IS GONE, DO YOU HEAR ME, SEANS?”
“We hear you, yes,” they said.
“I’m the baby,” Mabel said, and closed her eyes.
