Vignettes

Back and Forth

Swaying back and forth. The same beige and gray office casual clad bodies doing the dance day after day five days a week. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a giant cradle rocking them to sleep. A meadow of daisies swaying in unison to a mild summer wind—minus the joy and freedom and with a few other exceptions. The sun is a hard florescent beam; the sky is the inside of a hollow white metal barrel; and the only real wind gusts are from the exhaust burped out of the beast—the bus or the adjacent human suffering from occasional gastric upset.

The soft swaying is interrupted only by an occasional bump in the road causing a quick jolt to the body and brain or a big turn that suspends them in back or forth position for longer than the normal interval. Multi-colored fingers in tight grips attached to the stark smooth silver pole running the length of the bus. They hold fast to it lest anyone lose their balance and fall into the stranger they ride to work with every day. Comfort, stability, and distance are satisfied.

It’s all part of the routine. The routine of being a worker in capitalist society. The workers commute to their respective hives to do their part. But these workers are contributing in other ways too. Through their use of public transportation, they are saving the planet and saving a buck or two in gas and car repairs, maybe. Certainly, they are spared the insanity of careening through a battleground of rush-hour traffic and the resultant tan coffee stains on their clothes. They have traded the stop and go for the back and forth. A gentler and less risky action. They are safe and content, but not joyful.