By Philip Lear
Al boards the uptown bus and squeezes in between two oversized women each of whom grudgingly relinquishes a part of the vacant seat. At first he can barely breathe but as they exhale he gains some room.
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.
Al imagines about how warm and sweet that milk must taste. He doesn’t remember if he was breastfed. His mother’s been dead many years. But he still has a warm feeling when he thinks about her.
Al’s aware that he’s witnessing a very intimate moment and is slightly embarrassed. He doesn’t want to intrude. He turns his head and nonchalantly looks at the ads posted over the windows. ‘Learn the computer; become a court reporter, a medical technician; fly to Europe; join the Air force.
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. What an incredible bonding experience, he thinks. He wonders if something beyond bonding going on here.
He continues to battle his inner desire to look at them and stares up at an imaginary spot on the bus roof. Then, looking slightly to the left he sees two couples standing with suitcases. They’re very blonde and tall maybe from Norway or Minnesota. Behind them are some school kids with book bags slouched in the back. He looks down at a woman’s red sandals and at the floor.
When his eyes return to the breast for an instant. He catches himself and casually looks at his watch. The second hand seems to be moving slower and slower. He turns away and looks out the window as the bus passes a string of pricey-looking restaurants and shops. His neck is starting to ache. All this unnatural twisting is getting to him. Why am I denying myself a view of this incredibly beautiful moment? He wonders.
He raises his head to normal eye level and looks directly at them. 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 glances 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.
"Compelling! Why don’t you mind your own business?" She says.
Al’s shocked and goes red in the face. The other passengers who have witnessed the exchange turn and stare at him.
The heavyset women with the bluish gray hair 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.
"I know exactly what you’re looking at," she says.
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 her 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 worm. 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 puts him over her shoulder and pats him on the back and gently rocks him back and forth. Al thinks about getting off, but he’s not about to. That would be a capitulation to their hostility.
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 the other passengers crowding towards him. They don’t like the bus being stopped. As they get closer they seem more menacing.
"Well what’s it going to be?" The driver asks.
*****
The bus pulls away leaving Al standing in a cloud of diesel soot. Indignantly he brushes himself off and sits down on a bench by the bus stop. He’s deeply wounded but relieved to be off of that bus. He sighs mournfully. It was a coup, he thinks. I was just expelled. They all wanted me off.
Sitting there gradually he relaxes and lets his mind drift. In a way being thrown off that bus was like being born. One minute you’re in your mother’s warm womb and the next you’re being forcibly ejected from the birth canal into the harshness of the world. How disturbing, confusing and perplexing that must be? And here I am now painfully thrust out yet again, he sighs.
He watches people passing by. A tall blond man is walking rapidly and a shorter one trying to keep up with him and talk to him. He’s walking almost sideways. Two teenage girls in green plaid uniforms are walking at a good pace each talking on her cell phone unmindful of the benches, trees and other obstacles. He wonders how they can do it without colliding with something. A thin jogger with an Ipod strapped to her arm passes. The sweat is glistening on her shoulders. She looks like she doesn’t have one ounce of fat on her. Al thinks of the complete relaxation that comes from a good jog and remembers some years ago when he jogged and wonders if he shouldn’t return.
A middle-aged couple is pushing a three-wheeled stroller covered in clear plastic. When Al glances in and sees a toy poodle inside. It’s their baby, he thinks.
Everybody seems to be in a hurry, but he’s not. And the best part is that no one notices him. It’s as though he’s invisible and he’s grateful for the detachment.
After sitting for a while he strolls up the block to where there are vendors selling bags, wallets, perfume, watches, sweatshirts, paintings and wire sculptures. There’s a pushcart on the corner and Al buys an orange drink. As he drinks it, he savors the watered down orange flavor.
Time passes and as he walks new scenes overlay the old ones. There are flower shops, antique stores, boutiques and bistros. And as he goes on the healing continues.