Sunday, July 22, 2012

Man on Bus

On my way to run on Sunday morning, I took a bus. At the bus stop was an Asian man-- around my age. He had glasses, and salt and pepper hair. He was pulling a suitcase.  (I originally wrote he was carrying a suitcase, but nobody carries suitcases much anymore, do they?)

"Are you local?" he asked.

"15 years," I replied.

"Does this bus go to Central Station?"

"It does, but it's often late. How long have you been waiting?"

"3 or 4 minutes."

I was relieved. I probably hadn't missed it either.

He asked where I was from, originally. I said the US.

"I studied in the US," he offered.

"Whereabouts?" I asked.

"Buffalo." He replied.

I laughed. I explained I had grown up just an hour from Buffalo.

He told me about himself. He grew up in mainland China, studied in the US, and now lived in Hong Kong. He had a PhD in engineering. Did something with cars-- was in Europe to meet with BMW.

When we got on the bus, I sat next to him with some hesitation. It felt close. We liked each other. But there was no scope for a next conversation. When we got off the bus, we went separate ways, with a friendly wave.

"Have a good flight," I said.

"Good luck with the half marathon," he said.

I wish I could have known him better. We could have had dinner in Hong Kong. I might have fallen in love with him. He had square fingers. He spent seven years in Buffalo. What more could I ask for? 

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