Bus 71 at 4am

4am on Christmas Eve and the 71 Bus to Farragut Square pulls up to the Silver Spring Station. This is what I have to resort to in order to catch a 6:50am flight. The doors open and the eclectic mix of people pile on. There is the old Haitian man who speaks English with a french accent. His smile is always on, like he is constantly and happily intoxicated. There is the Honduran man, either going to work or getting off work, dressed in flannel and carrying a styrofoam box of food. There is a witch doctor who's hair is wild like his eyes. He wears a black rain coat, big hat and carries what looks like a large stick of fossilized wood. I've seen him before around town. He doesn't beg for money. I've seen him stand on the corner down my the trains and stare intensely at people. Watching the march of penguins to and from work.

 

The Bus driver greets us with 'Good Morning' and a 'Happy holidays'. He is a big man, happy that it is Christmas Eve and delighted to be taking us to our destination on a nice warm bus.

 

The Honduran man tries to sleep and the Witch doctor stoically stars straight ahead, resting his hands on his lap. The Haitian man starts talking in gibberish. He is very skinny and old. His tweed suit is too big and his caber hat rest to the left. He turns to the witch doctor and says, 'I believe you have seen into the abyss.'

The witch doctor says nothing.

The Haitian man, straightens his hat, looks at me, drowsy and tired, and says, 'that man is not a man.' 

I nod yes, clutch my carry on and keep my mouth shut.

The bus driver yells back to the Haitian man, 'Listen, it is too early to get peopel riled up. Sit back and relax. Just relax.'

 

The Haitian man looks at me again. He says, 'he has seen a place with no time and space. He is no longer a man, but a apparitian. You see him, but he does not see you. He sees only your heart beat.'

I say, 'should I be scared?'

The Hatian man looks at the Witch doctor closely.

 

The Witch doctor says to the Haitian, 'leave me alone. I do not know you.'

The Bus driver takes a left on to 7th street from Georgia Ave. We pass by Howard University. The bus driver yells out another warning, 'it is too early, my man.'

 

The Haitian looks over to me again and whispers, 'fear only if you have something to fear.'

The bus dirver is right. It is way too early for this. It's still pitch dark out.

 

The Honduran man looks up to see where we are, and looks around, obvious that he is bothered by the talking that interrupts his sleep.

 

The Haitian man comes back to me and points at the witch doctor, 'that man has experianced nothingness. It is a place void of good and evil. It is void of man and woman. I have never seen it, but almost once.' He starts speaking in French and not partically looking at anything.

 

We are in Chinatown and my stop comes up and I leave. I tell the bus driver 'thanks.' He says, ' you have a good Christmas now' and is laughing as he closes the door.

 

The streets are full of rats scurrying back and forth as I walk to Union Station, wondering what had just happened. There is a world of darkness and shadows, apparitions and unexplanable voids. The chill you get when you looks down a dark alley is real. The white of eyes you see in the deepest and darkest corners are really there. But maybe in this world of flourescent lights and the ambient sounds of the city and the machines around us, we pass them off as our imagination playing tricks on us.