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SOUTH.BOUND BUS

Marianne Shears

The south-bound bus out of Boston pul Ied· mto tra ffic shortly
after two o'clock on a moist, green day in late April. There were only

a few passengers, mostly shoppers. .

~The young mother was havm..g. difficulty restram..mg her twms

from running in the aisles. Mrs. Grant, a grandmother, had been

visiting her daughter in Boston; her third grandchild was a dear. The

other passengers were reading or napping, so that when the youn,g

woman got on they had not taken much notice. Perhaps, they wouldn t
have noticed her nervousness anyway.

She sat stiffly and stared at the blurring landscapes. Her thOugh~
kept winding back to the college campus she had left behind. The re
spreads needed cleaning, spring is a good time to change things, a r~al
good time to travel, to start again, oh, hell, what did it matter, any of it?

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" The casual words struck the
girl who turned quickly to see Mrs. Grant smiling and nodding toward
the empty seat. Without waiting for an answer the older woman
seated herself and introduced herself. She waited for the expected
reciprocation. Finally she had to ask, and she learned that the girl's
name was Janet, Janet Smith.

They rode on in silence until Mrs. Grant began to talk about her
daughter, Joanne, and her three grandchildren. The afternoon sun
glowed warmly and Mrs. Grant's conversation wore thin. Janet
scarcely listened; she felt that tightness building up inside again.
Here was someone who would understand, like her own mother or
grandmother. She would tell this woman, this stranger whom she

would never see again. The bus stopped shortly to pick up passenge:~.
After they started again Janet tried to talk in a normal tone. I

go-used to go to New Mount, up north of Boston." She didn't get
any further. She knew that she could not go on "normally". Janet
started again, this time wearing the cynic's mask.

"Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there were three little
roommates at New Mount. Everyone thought they got along fine.
Two did, but Anne, she's the artist of the group, was jealous and
vicious. She couldn't stand to see us-the others, I mean, happy. She
didn't understand their friendship; she didn't even try. But I think
she was just vicious. Never resisted the urge to be sarcastic, always

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