by D. Ryan Lafferty
On a hot crowded bus on his way to work, Silas slid into the first seat just behind the driver. One block later, the hydraulic hiss punctuated the calm, and on walked his neighbor, James. James was a proud little man and Silas, well, Silas was often forgettable. So forgettable that regular folks hardly noticed him at all and if they did, they never paid him much mind. On this particular occasion, Silas was working his magic, doing what he did best; blending into the background and closing his heavy-hooded eyes while his brain convinced itself that he was still tucked under those cozy blankets at home in his quiet air conditioned room. Loud-mouthed James interrupted his doze as he peppered the busdriver with his latest rant. His language: rough, coarse, and colorful filled the cramped interior of the bus.
It was always something with James. Yesterday, he was accusing his crooked landlord of rigging the water meter, the day before he was spinning some tired yarn about that shifty neighbor kid stealing his paper. As if that’s what young people did for kicks nowadays, surreptitiously absconding with news items and clandestinely brushing up on local community and world events. Silas chuckled to himself as he pictured teenagers hiding out; perusing stock quotes and obits. The thought of buying every kid on the block a newspaper subscription, if they needed one so badly, amused him. Today, James had his sights set on the war, about his son in the army and the vile inhuman monsters that were the enemy. How he wished they’d fall away. He’d even prayed at church that the oppositional forces would crumble to dust and die off before his son lost life or limb; that his boy would return home unscathed. This was not an uncommon thought from parents whose children had grown up to be soldiers. James was certainly not the first, nor would he be the last to consider this notion. He had gone on in fits and starts the entire ride, until his next stop had arrived and he stormed off just a cussin’ and a kickin’ a can down the street in a rare mood. The calm and quiet amid the passengers felt a foreign yet welcome relief. A sort of audio Stockholm syndrome where their eardrums had grown so accustomed to their captive state that the silence seemed unsettling somehow. Silas shifted in his chair and checked his watch before nestling back into the corner of his seat.
The bus driver looked at Silas in his mirror and shook his head in response to the tidal wave of upset that James had left in his wake. Silas saw the pain in the elderly man’s eyes, it startled him in its depth, its weight, and gravity. His pitiful sorrow almost made Silas weep. All this from a look. Now, this look made him realize that no matter how forgettable Silas had always seemed to others, he was a bright beaming beacon of light awash on the rocky shores of midnight compared to the man behind the wheel. How many years had Silas taken this same bus? How many times had he started the same conversation, and slept his way through to his daily destination? Silas never did ask the man’s name or if he’d had any children of his own. Of course he must, Silas thought to himself, the way his eyes hurt so at the mention of such poignant cruelty. What must He be thinking? Silas wondered, and as if in an answer to this very question, the busdriver spoke, his eyes fixed on Silas in the mirror above his head. The drone of the engine and the sway of the seat moved in a giant wave as they rounded the corner to State Street. It seemed the world turned at his command. At the end of a dramatic pause, perfectly timed, the driver began, “How on Earth can he ask the dear Lord for the death of his son’s enemies!?” The strain and moan of the bus accelerator punctuated the maudeline lament as it hummed along the avenue.
Silas gently frowned and slowly shook his head from left to right as he leaned back preparing to close his eyes once again, ready to slip away from this scene of upset, when the man spoke again, “What is a father to do?” he strained as he slapped the large round wheel before him with his left hand. “Who could ask the almighty to… to pick which of his own children should be destroyed… who should live, and who should die… all for the selfish whim of one malcontented soul?!” Silas shifted again, but now wide awake, he sat up and listened to the driver; attentive to every word from this man who had for so long seemed just part of the scenery. Silas was enraptured by the heartfelt warmth of the driver, his noble indignation. He found now that as the man spoke, he couldn’t help but feel the significance of his simple notion, the veracity of his words, a universal truth he’d somehow missed before, but now he could never unsee. The man continued, lost in thought, “…as…as if they were put here only to die in such near-sighted petty little wars, as if their Father hadn’t taught them better from the very start. As if He hadn’t sacrificed and hadn’t raised them better, as if He hadn’t been there every single day and in everything they do!” He fell silent, crestfallen for the last leg of the ride and as the bus slowed to a gentle stop, Silas rose to leave, he turned for a moment and looked back at the lonely man behind the wheel and said “Forgive them, Father, they know not what they do.”
Dr. D. Ryan Lafferty is a local Bordentown poet, writer, and the author-illustrator of children’s books. To see more of his work, visit http://www.DartanionPress.com
Literary Crumbs: Poems & Short Stories to Savor by D. Ryan Lafferty 