Every day I get in the queue (Too much, Magic Bus)
To get on the bus that takes me to you (Too much, Magic Bus)
I'm so nervous, I just sit and smile (Too much, Magic Bus)
You house is only another mile (Too much, Magic Bus)
Magic Bus performed by The Who (1968)
Yesterday, I took a Magic Bus.
I have a deep love of public transportation (when it's not rush hour and I'm smashed like a sardine); I feel like I get to experience an authentic micro-community of the city when I share my ride. Indeed, yesterday, that was true.
I ride with my headphones on - yesterday was a day for listening to Hammock and their soul-nurturing sound canvases - while I eavesdrop and observe the city and my fellow riders with a loving heart. Just as we were going east and crossing the Chicago River before Ashland Avenue and I could glimpse the high rises and Lake Michigan in the far distance, a man and a woman had a connection that I will never forget.
The man reached out to the woman and commented on her Christian necklace; it was a simple cross on a simple chain. The man was in his late 30s and riding in the Priority Seating section because he had a crutch for his injured right leg. The woman was in her late 50s or early 60s with a knowing face - she'd seen it all and then some. I turned down my music when I heard her delightful cackle of a laugh and the man reach out to her, across the aisle to take her hand.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going downtown to work. These old feet are getting tired. But I have to believe it will get better."
"You know, Jesus chose the sick, the wounded, the poor, and the ones that weren't smart like us. The simple ones like us. There is hope."
(he squeezes her hand)
(the lady laughs again)
"You know, I suppose you are right. He did choose us. There is hope for us. We'll be okay."
There is hope for us.
They could have been discussing any religion, the merits of Fruity Pebbles cereal, or even the construction on Fullerton Avenue. Grace showed up between two strangers who didn't even know each other's names or stories. Hands were held, and hope was found on a simple city bus in the middle of the day. Stories of grace.
Thank you, driver, for getting me here (Too much, Magic Bus)