Tray on was on my bus the other day

Because of my brain surgery, I haven't been able to drive. A few weeks ago, two teenage black men got on the 550 bus during rush hour. In Texas, if you don't have a car, that is a liability, because we really don't have good mass trans.

The taller kid was in a mood, and they sat at the front, which is generally reserved for mothers with babies, elders, and wheelchair riders. The young man, let's call him Trey, sat besides an older, dishevled, white guy who was taking all the leg room, rocking to his IPod music.

Trey told the white guy to make room, but the white guy, let's call him Mr. Z, didn't move an inch. He was not about to be instructed by someone like him. I could smell his fear. Their voices got louder and louder, amidst the clamor of voices, the smoky, sweaty, murmuring of working-class accents, and the roaring bus.

Young man, what has your mother taught you?

The teenager looked at the older black woman behind him, and stopped fidgeting and elbowing.
He was about to explode and show this old guy...Then

Silence.

Trey's manhood was wounded. Somehow, her churchy voice penetrated. It won't always be like this, she seemed to say. It's not worth it. You are just as good as him.

He got off at the next stop.

Comments

D.M. SOLIS said…

Very fine indeed. I like the way this builds, and the wisdom in it. Peace and all good things for you in literature and in life.

Sincerely,
Diane

2:16 PM

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