My feet pound the pavement as I hurry to the bus stop, Mutemath blaring in my ears. My feet walk to the beat of the music. The wind whips my hair away from my face, and the tip of my noze is frozen on this frigid November afternoon.
The bus pulls up. A familiar face sits behind the wheel as I flash my bus pass. I choose a seat near the back, and always on the right side, preferably right behind the exit door. As we start down Maple Lane, I admire the beautiful houses. They are large and tall, like quiet giants sleeping the days away. Some have beautiful wooden doors, painted red or blue or yellow. People still haven't gotten rid of their pumpkins from Halloween. I am reminded of a book that was read to me when I was little, a book about a mouse using a pumpkin for it's house in the winter.
Down one of the streets a boy is playing hockey with his father. This stings. I want my father, and wish he was well enough to play hockey with.
As we turn onto Acacia, the houses become even fancier. At the end of Acacia we turn onto Beechwood.
Beechwood is an interesting street. Right on the corner of Acacia and Beechwood is a little shop called Jacobson's. In the window are two vases; they are both striped black and white. The tall one reminds me of a zebra. The woman with the blonde hair stands either behind the counter or talks with customers. It is well lit, and the clean white shelves are perfectly stacked with fancy gourmet sauces and expensive kitchen tools and utensils.
There is a cafe down the street, the Jazoo it's called. Then there is the Edingburgh Pub & Eatery, where I sometimes try to spy on people drinking there beer. They usually see me, so I look away and try to look peaceful and beautiful like a painting for them to admire. Who knows what they think.
We cross a bridge and I like to look at the sun setting. I also like to try and see across the old abonnned bridge that is baracaded off. I wonder why it has been closed, and what is on the island that it leads too. Probably an industrial site or business of some sort.
Then we come along to the french high school. I have yet to catch the name of it. This school is home to all sorts of types; the indie kids, the nerdy kids, the gangster kids, the everything-in-between. Every type you can imagine. It is diverse. I like it. In the field there is a soccer game ending. The group of players jumps up and down in a large crowd and spray water bottles on eachother. Some people leaving the game run to catch the bus.
By now the bus is crowded.
The next part of the ride I like is going down Dalhousie street. There are so many different and interesting shops and businesses on Dalhousie. On the corner is a interior decoation store; Bali something or other. There are beautiful chairs, wall hangings and knick knacks in this store. They also sell tea pots.
A few shops down is a hair dressing place called Acapella. I like to look in and watch people getting their hair cut. Once, one of the hair dresses was standing out on the front step as the bus came to a stop. He looked real cool, real relaxed and casual. He had jeans and a shirt on, with the collar unbutonned a bit. He had his hands in his pocket, and he looked at me. I think him and I would be good friends if we knew eachother. Has that ever happened to you before? You see someone and you just know you would hit it off, even though you may never speak to that person?
Everyday I look for him. This is why I sit on the right side.
Down the street from this is an Indian cuisine restaurant called Shafali's. I like this restaurant because the building is painted to different shades of vivid purple; the bottom a lighter purple and the top a darker shade.
At the very end of Dalhousie, or on the corner of Dalhousie and Rideau, I should say, is a store where you can buy diet pills and that protein stuff that guys take when they are working out to beef up. There is a large poster of a blonde woman wearing a sparkly bikini. It is black and white, but I can tell her bikini is sparkly because I can see the sequins. She is looking down, and she is untying the side of her string bikini. I secretly hate her because she is beautiful. I consider buying diet pills. Then I get real.
Next stop: The Rideau Center.
I wait for the 26 and watch the people as they pass by. I am a renowned people watcher. It is one of my most favorite (and harmless) pass times. There is one boy who always walks by at the same time. He comes out of Rideau and crosses the street. He always has a Booster Juice and sips it as he walks.
Finally the bus comes and I make my way home.
I like to watch everyone as they get on the bus. I am secretl looking for someone attractive. However, most of the men that get on the bus at this time are middle-aged Government workers.
I ring the bell, and get off. I walk to the beat of my music.
My heart beats strong in my chest.
I am home.
