By Anonymous

The Stranger on the Bus

By Anonymous I believe in talking to the stranger on the bus.

I was six years old when I first knew what it meant to be lonely. I had just started kindergarten, and we were now halfway into the year. I was awkward, blurting out whatever was on my mind, not realizing how bad it sounded until I saw others’ reactions. I had a couple of acquaintances, but there wasn’t anyone I was ever particularly close to. Most days, I’d just talk to whoever I was around, then spend my bus ride sitting in complete silence as my seatmate ignored me, or sitting by myself as I stared out the window with nothing to do but watch the cars pass by. Yeah, it was boring, and feeling that alone kind of sucked, but I was too shy to change anything.

I can still remember that day. I still know the weather, the kind of winter day when the sky was gray and the bus windows would fog up enough that you could draw on them. They would often be covered in doodles by the time afternoon came. I can recall the exact seat I was sitting in, the third one back from the front, on the right. I was beside the window, looking out. We hadn’t started moving yet, so I was just staring at the empty blacktop as I thought about what I was going to do when I got home. I knew I had the only empty spot on the bus next to me. There was always one space open, every day. Usually, I was the one who was left to sit alone, every other kid knowing someone else better and opting to sit with them instead. It was fine. It happened every day. I was used to it.

Suddenly, I felt the bus shift like it did every time someone new walked on. I looked up in surprise. In came another kid my age, a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked around for a seat, disappointment obvious in his eyes as he realized that the only one left was the one next to me. Gathering my stuff, I quickly moved it before going back to staring out the window. I was already well versed in the art of acting like I didn’t exist.

The bus rumbled to a start, pulling out as I looked on. I watched the concrete move beneath us. Abruptly, a feeling washed over me, one of being watched. I turned to see the boy looking at me. As soon as I faced him, he smiled.

“Hi!” This was the first of many interactions between us. I thought the first would be the last, but he continued to seek me out, first on the bus, then in class. He would fill any awkward moment and never seemed to mind if I said something rude.

He kept talking to me, no matter how many times I messed up. And I’m happy to say that this kid, the kid who was willing to talk to a complete stranger on the bus just because they looked lonely, is my best friend.

He taught me that the person sitting alone on the bus often isn’t alone by choice. Most times, these people have a story to tell, something they’re passionate about, something that drives them. Ever since then, I try to talk to that person on the outskirts, the one with the arms crossed, looking around with a look of disinterest. Yeah, sometimes you get the cold shoulder. But other times?

Other times you get a best friend.