By Philip Lear

Aboard the uptown bus Al squeezes between two oversized women each of whom grudgingly relinquishes a part of the vacant seat. He can barely exhale but knows that when they do he’ll gain some purchase.

Seated across from him is a woman breastfeeding her baby. She’s thin and angular with a sallow complexion and prominent chin. She’s wearing a loose-fitting peasant dress with a white top that’s partly pulled down. Her baby is sucking furiously on her left breast. It almost looks as though he’s attacking it. What a hungry little critter, Al thinks.

He imagines about how warm and sweet that milk must taste. He doesn’t remember if he was breastfed, but when he thinks about his own mother he has a warm feeling.

Al’s aware that he’s witnessing a very intimate moment and is slightly embarrassed. He doesn’t want to intrude and yet feels a powerful spirituality in the scene. He thinks about Christ and Mary and wonders if this is what it was like for them.

At first he’s embarrassed to look and tries not to intrude. He turns his head nonchalantly looking at the ads posted over the windows. ‘Learn the computer; learn to speak English; fly to the Europe; join the Air force;’ and so on. He wonders if anyone actually pays attention to these ads or if they’re put there so passengers can avoid eye contact.

But looking straight ahead is his normal position and his eyes drift back to the scene of mother and child. Her breasts are pale and silky smooth and she’s breathing heavily. He knows that women do enjoy having their nipples sucked and wonders if something sexual is going on here? Is there a fine line between incest and bonding? Is the child hungry for the milk or for love? And if so, what kind of love?

He continues to battle his inner desire to look at them. Looking slightly to the left he sees two couples are standing with suitcases. They must be from out of town. They’re blonde and tall. Maybe they are from Norway or from Minnesota. Behind them are some school kids with book bags slouched in the back.

When his eyes return to the breast yet again he catches himself and casually stairs at the floor and then at his wristwatch. He watches the second hand circling the dial. It seems to be moving slower and slower. He turns away and looks out the window and scans a string of pricey-looking restaurants and shops. He knows he’s running out of options.

He’s powerfully drawn back to the scene unfolding in front of him. On some level he longs to be a part of it. He looks directly at them and at that instant, as though instinctively interrupted by Al’s intense look, the infant looses his concentration and slips off of his mother’s nipple making a loud slurping sound. The mother wipes the baby’s chin and deftly shifts him to her right breast. She looks at Al as she makes the change and continues breast feeding.

A few minutes later she sees that Al’s still staring.

"Well," she says. "Are you having a good look?"

"There’s something I find very compelling about a mother breastfeeding," he says.

"Why don’t you mind your own business?" She says.

Al’s shocked and goes red in the face. The other passengers turn and stare at him.

The heavyset women sitting to his right glares at him. "I’ve been watching you. You should be ashamed of yourself ogling a nursing mother."

"I think watching them is really amazing," he says.

"Them! Are you referring to my breasts?" The mother says.

"No, you don’t understand. It’s the scene of mother and child I find compelling, " He answers.

The mother’s not buying it. She doesn’t understand.

"I know exactly what you’re looking at," she answers.

The fat women seated next to the mother points at him. "Look! He’s a voyeur."

Someone else says, "Mental patients like him are all over the city. They shouldn’t be allowed on the bus."

Al shakes his head.

"I’m not a mental patient?" he snaps.

"You’re a pervert." Another passenger says.

"What do you mean?" He objects. "This is a city bus. They’re sitting two feet from me. If she’s so concerned about privacy why doesn’t she feed him at home? And while she’s at it she could try covering herself up a bit."

The nursing mother turns purple. "You’re despicable. I’m feeding my baby. How dare you speak to me like that?"

The baby starts screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Now look at what you’ve done," she cries.

"What have I done? I’ve done nothing," Al asserts.

The mother struggles to calm her baby. She put him over her shoulder and pats him on the back. Al thinks about getting off, but he’s not about to. But he can feel the hot glares of the other passengers. The force is almost palpable. But to do so would be an admission of guilt. And he hasn’t done anything.

The bus driver, who’s been listening pulls the bus over and comes back. He stands between Al and the mother.

"Is this man bothering you Ma’am?" He asks pointing to Al.

She nods.

"Out!" he says pointing to the door. "This is your stop, buddy."

"But I didn’t do anything," Al protests. "I’m just sitting here."

"I’ve been listening to everything. I know what’s been going on here. If you don’t get off right now I’m calling the police. And besides, I’m not moving this bus on inch until you do."

He looks around and sees that other passengers are really getting angry. They don’t like the idea of the bus not moving. They start crowding towards him giving menacing looks. He hesitates.

"Well what’s it going to be?" The driver asks.

*****

The bus pulls away leaving him standing in a cloud of diesel soot. Indignantly he brushes himself off. Al sits down on a bench by the bus stop deeply wounded but relieved to be off of the bus. He sighs deeply. It was a coup, he thinks. I was expelled. It was like birth.

Al thinks about how warm and tranquil it must have been to swim inside his mothers womb. And then to be almost crushed and smothered as he’s thrust out through this narrow canal. Forcibly ejected into the harshness of the world. How disturbing, confusing and perplexing that must have been for him. And here I am now, he thinks. Painfully thrust out yet again. How distressing.

He watches people passing by. There’s a tall blond man walking a tiny dog. The dog is having trouble keeping up with the man. Two teenage girls are walking rapidly each talking on their cell phones. He wonders how they can do it without walking into someone or falling. A tall thin woman jogger wearing headphones passes them. The sweat is glistening on her shoulders. She looks like she doesn’t have one once of fat on her. Al thinks of the complete relaxation that comes from a good workout. May he’ll start running. Maybe he’ll even join a running club. An Asian couple pushing a three-wheeled baby carriage passes by. They’re in a hurry. Everybody around him is in a hurry. He realizes he’s out of the flow but doesn’t mind it.

He walks up the block a bit where there are rows of small booths where vendors are selling handbags, wallets, watches, sweatshirts, paintings and wire sculptures. He browses. The watches are ten dollars each. He thinks about buying one that looks just like a $7000 Rolex. But he couldn’t wear it. He’d know it wasn’t the real thing. There’s a pushcart on the corner and he buys an orange drink. This is authentic, he thinks. He’s had this drink many times before. As he drinks it, he savors the quenching watered down orange flavor.

Time passes new scenes overlay the old ones and though he still feels the hurt of his bus expulsion now it doesn’t seem quite so bad. Though there’s little chance of it happening again, he still shudders at the thought of getting on another bus. He walks a little further letting a few more busses pass. There’s always that element of unpredictability on public transportation. No, it’s still to soon to face that scene again, he thinks. Just the idea of sitting in those seats and not knowing who’s going to be next to you or across from you. I’m not ready to face another pack of angry lunatics. Not today. He flags down a cab and heads home.