bus ettiquette

There is alot to know when riding a city bus, and plenty of mentally ill people to show the way. I've been taking the 4. It's called the 4. It's the one that goes up and down Division and into downtown. It is refreshing to report that the 4 never accidentally drives onto a freeway or winds up at the airport. The ease of the bus system is appealing. No parking to deal with, and on a beautiful spring day, cruising around on foot in downtown is fun. So much to see. But the strange thing is the social customs of bus riding. You are not expected, for instance, to speak to anyone. Are, in fact, expected not to speak. And the seats are narrow at best, narrower than my ass, and the people who sit next to you, sit next to you. And you don't talk. A tiny little man sat by me today. I wasn't so self conscious as my first time, when I clutched my purse and bags for fear a mugger would steal my new sweater. This time, a manic man was in the front of the bus. (The mentally ill stick to the front, from all appearances.) He was jabbering away, unlike us normal folks who say nothing and act as though it were a normal occurance. When the nut got off the bus, the tiny man next to me said, "Get a few more beers in him and he'd never shut up." I just told the guy I kinda thought he didn't operate on alcohol, had his own internal battery driving the train. bus. what have you. Anyway, the conversation initiated, I took it from there. I commented how odd I thought it was that we sit, literally almost, in one another's laps, and don't speak, and if we do speak, we're insane. or drunk. Well, I'm talking. I don't care. I'm sure after a million portland years I'll be silenced by the experiences of the city, but for now, I'm taking my small town manners with me.

Last night we went on a bike ride on our new bikes. We lay in the field at the school, and looked up at the stars, barely visible at 9:00. It's the light of the city, he told me. It doesn't get as dark here. You can't see the night. And it is true. I'm accustomed now to being in our neighborhood, and don't venture into town much at all. It's easy to believe I'm not living in a huge metropolis. It's easy to believe that nothing much has changed.

But it has. My name will change on Saturday, and I can't figure out what to wear.

Vows. I do.... I do too.... that's all we want to say. He says, "For the rest of my life, I choose you." I say, "me too." Me, the writer, speechless in the face of committment. Oh well.