This is more just a musing (and a story) than anything else. Also, this story happened last summer. Enjoy.
Whenever I take the public bus into town, I see the same man. Before
today, I had never heard him speak. He smiled and nodded to my mother
and I, but never, not once had I heard a word escape his lips.
Today, my mother said hello to the man. He said hello back and "this was a wonderful day to go to the beach" was her reply.
During
the following ten minutes, he never stopped talking. He spoke about
ridding the bus, the weather, food, and even told a few stories.
As
he spoke, his happiness grew like a balloon being filled with air for
the first time. I smiled, and at first all I could was, is this guy ever
going to shut up? But then I was ashamed. I realized that he wouldn't
be talking so much had he someone to talk to. And then I thought of all
the times I needed to talk to someone so bad I thought I would burst.
As
he continued to talk, I listened, really listened. I laughed at his
jokes and felt good that simply listening brought someone who I knew
nothing about so much joy.
On the bus ride, I thought of all the
people we see on a regular basis yet don't know at all. The check-out
girl at the market, the rubbish collector, the mailman, the person who
you see everyday on the bus. We think of them as just people, but
really, just like you and me, they are human beings with lives that we
may never know about.
Everyone has a story, I wish I knew his...
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