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THE BOY ON THE BUS
ŠThe Goatherder
As much as I hate it, I had to go into town today and
talk with some people on business matters. Normally, I do not have to do much business,
but today was one of those days;
heck the wife even made me put on clean clothes and comb my hair.
I always hate going to town and this town was Denver. I hate Denver, except for the
Broncos. I hate it even more when I have to pass through the city, much less drive down, into the business part.
Well, I was standing at the corner of Broadway and Colfax, waiting for the
light to change, when a city bus rolled by. Denver busses, by the way,
are painted like an old-fashioned gypsy wagon, and some have advertisements all over them.
Anyhow this one was just a plain old bus, with ads below the windows.
Heck some busses even have the windows painted so you can't see inside at all.
I guess the riders can see out though.
I looked at this bus as it stopped at the light and saw that although no one was standing,
it was full. The passengers just sort of sat there, or looked out with glazed-over faces,
like something in one of those Sci-Fi movie magazines.
Just before the light changed, I saw a kid, oh maybe twelve or so,
sitting with his face against the window and tears running down his cheeks.
He seemed to be by himself, so I immediately wondered what his problem was.
About then someone walked up to the bus, pounded on the door, and when
the driver opened the door, this kid jumped up and ran off the bus. The driver
closed the door and when the light changed, drove on.
The boy ran over to the side of a building, leaned against it, and continued to cry.
I walked over and asked if I could help.
He looked at me in a funny sort of way and said, "How could you help me old man?"
I replied, "I don't know, but if we walk over there and sit down,
and if you tell me what's wrong, maybe I can!"
He looked at me, nodded, so we walked, maybe half a block to a bench, and sat down.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my red bandana, handing it to him.
In a low voice I said, "Hey it's too pretty a day to ruin it crying. What's wrong?"
And with that I reached out, put my arm around his shoulder, and pulled him close.
He wiped his eyes, then blew his nose, then looked up at me.
"Old man why you want to help me?" he asked.
I looked at him. "Well it looks to me like you have a problem and could use a little help."
His solemn face lit up a bit and he said, "Guess so."
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a Red Delicious apple.
Then I reached into my right hand trouser pocket and pulled out my pocketknife.
I cut the apple in half, wiped the blade, and put the knife back into my pocket.
I offered him half of my apple.
"Do you like apples?" I asked.
He looked at me and grinned as he took a bite. And by that,
I figured we were on our way to finding out what his problem was.
He sat there looking at me. First he would take a bite of apple...not too big a bite...then he
would slowly chew it, all-the-while looking me up and down.
Finally, when the last bite was gone, he threw the core down.
I immediately stood, walked over, and picked up the core.
"Doesn't do any good to trash," I said.
He just looked at me. Then he started to tell me his problem.
It seemed that he and his grandfather were at the mall when his grandfather slipped and fell.
The police shipped his grandfather to the hospital, he said, but they wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance.
He he did not know which hospital, and worse, he didn't have money to get there.
In his panic he had sneaked onto the first bus he saw, hoping it would take him to at least some hospital.
I looked at him. Then with a smile I said, "Heck we can solve that problem.
Tell you what. Go with me to my meeting then we'll find your grandpa, OK?"
He nodded, grinned, and off we went.
The meeting did not take more than half an hour, and all the while, he sat to one side
and looked at me, while I talked. When I was done I stood and said,
"If I am going to help you, you could at least tell me your name.
I am Tom, Tom the Goatherder, from up Bumfuzzle, Wyoming way."
He grinned and looked me up and down again.
Then he said, "Bumfuzzle is a funny name. Me, I'm Kenny.
Kenny Freeman. I'm from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico way."
As he spoke, a big grin came on his face. I spoke to the fellow with whom I was
meeting and he beckoned to his secretary.
The secretary ask the grandfather's name, then, in about ten minutes, she reported that he was in Mercy Hospital.
She gave us the room number and told us how to get there, and even told us where we could find a parking place.
I thanked the secretary and we departed.
The lady was good at giving directions because within a half hour we were in the hospital.
When we got to the floor and found the right ward, I wanted to disappear.
Kenny insisted that I stay and meet his grandpa, however, so I stayed.
We entered the ward and approached the bed, and as we did, I noticed that the fellow looked sort of familiar.
Then when he spoke I knew durn well who he was.
For Kenny's grandpa was my brother Lester, whom I had not seen in forty-seven years.
(The Goatherder--Nov 18, 99)
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