Saying Goodbye to the Ghost

Last week they announced that one of my neighborhood buses would be discontinued. I was a little heartbroken, but also strangely relieved.

I called it the Ghost Bus because it appeared out of nowhere, mostly when you least expected it. It threw timetables to the wind and showed up five minutes early when it felt like it (or was it fifteen minutes late?). Once on the bus, you'd see the same characters every time. The bus driver, the lady with the little kid, the housecleaner dragging her vacuum and rolling suitcase full of supplies, and the couple who took the bus only one block. Old ladies heading to the senior center or hospital were there in the front, moving gingerly as the driver waited for them to be seated. I liked these characters and I will miss their silent company.

In a way, it was time for me to let go of the Ghost Bus. It was like a bad boyfriend - it promised to be there and then wasn't, always letting me down at critical moments. But like a bad boyfriend, I still romanticize it a little. The Ghost Bus was quieter, faster, and hobo-free. It was a natural gas bus, not one of the electrics that rely on those antennae, so it swept along with no trouble.

I take the other buses now, looking out at the buildings whose facades I memorized long ago before I tried the Ghost Bus. I listen to people try out all of the ring tones on their phones, testing each one to make sure they are choosing a ring that matches their personality. The faces here are sometimes familiar, but there are no regulars. I am not even a regular on these buses, now that they come with greater frequency. It makes me think about the way people in other areas wait for trains or buses - do they take the same comfort in seeing familiar faces on their commutes?