I met a young man today while waiting for a bus. His name was Alan (I believe, I am terrible with names). Alan was 25, african american, and new to the LA area. We started talking about this and that, and I come to find out Alan had just moved here from Atlanta. He had been involved in some things there, ways of making money that wasn’t healthy or legal, (or so I gathered) and he was here in this town to make a fresh start. He has been spending the past two months living on skid row, trying to find work. Even his mother didn’t believe he could do something like that. Somewhere he has a brand new baby child, and the desire to be man enough to be considered a good father.

This is one of the better things about being a man. To see in others the hard work and sacrifice necessary at times, to earn the title. It made my day, and I told him so. I also wish him all the luck he can find.

Two different stories to share. The first was last night (Friday) coming home around 8:00ish. I was on the phone with a colleague, and I overheard these three girls ask somebody if a certain bus came by the stop we were at. Well, I just had to butt in. Turns out there were three young ladies visiting the states from Australia. They were genuinely surprised I guessed their country of origin correctly, as most Americans asked if they were English. Since I meet an Aussie about once a week on this route, its not that big a skill. They had some very nice things to say about our country, “Everybody is so friendly here.” one said. I didn’t have the heart to tell her is was likely more to the fact that she was blonde, cute, and young. They were good company until I got to Hollywood/Highland, and had to run off.

Tourists are the perfect people to meet on the bus. They don’t mind a short conversation, and one can learn oh so much just by asking them questions. They also do not expect a deep relationship, they are quite happy with a short polite talk, and then to be on their way. Sending them off with a smile is so easy, and costs practically nothing but a little friendliness.

One of the ladies asked me about superannuation, which caused me to say, “huh?” I can be quite witty at times, but this caught me completely off guard. Apparently it is the name for their retirement/pension system. It was interesting to try and explain Social Security to someone not from around here. This lead to a discussion about medical insurance which was even better. They thought our system was absolutely stupid, leaving so many people uncovered. When I told them that many conservatives were convinced their medical system was terrible, they laughed. “Why would they think that?” one asked. Why indeed. That this conversation took place on the bus, which means we were surrounded by a crowd of mostly working poor, most of whom could not afford medical insurance, only made the point stronger. I wonder what those sitting next to us were thinking.

All in all it was quite a pleasant experience.

Earlier in the week I had the opposite experience. An elderly gentlemen of color approached the stop while I was waiting to catch the Orange Line one morning. He was dirty, and smelled strongly of urine. When he saw me looking at him, he started talking to himself. He soon got very loud, and was obviously agitated. The other people at the stop moved away from him. His stench alone would have been enough, but his tone of voice was pretty scary. He didn’t yell at anyone, and he didn’t make any sudden moves, so I assumed he was reasonably safe. I did keep a careful eye on him though. The worst thing was that he often was speaking to himself, telling himself to calm down, but he could not. He mostly spoke lots of disassociated gibberish, like scanning through several talk radio stations, but all in the same voice. He also looked around and addressed people who plainly were not there. It was sad to see, as he was old enough to be a grandfather, sitting at home, bouncing babies on his knee. Instead he was living on the streets, peeing in his pants, and unable to contain his mental illness.  In his lucid moments he must know what he is doing, and feel a sick dread at is actions.

Sometimes mental illness really sucks.

For years I’ve heard the term differently-abled used instead of disabled to describe a person with a major physical affliction. And to be truthful, I always thought it was more of that PC crap we are supposed to politely parrot while in front of groups of people. While I may have some small sympathy for some PC stuff, this particular term always struck me as non-sense. I guess my attitude could be summed up as, if you’re in a damn wheel chair, then by God at least be realistic about your affliction.

Well, I discovered the other night, completely by accident, that I was wrong. Let me tell you how.

I ride the bus to and from work a lot. Most of you who read this, have some idea that this is the case. The bus lends one to interact much more with their fellow commuters, and I must say I enjoy the experience much more than riding home in my own little sterile cubicle called a car.

Thursday evening was no different. I worked a long day (10 hours) and was coming home late. Later than normal. I chatted with a nice young girl while waiting for the bus. The bus was late, and as usually the case when it is late to this stop, it was packed full of people. The girl and I were still having a conversation, so we got on, and stopped only a little ways in. Normally I sit down all the way to the back of the bus, especially when I have my skateboard (which I did not on this particular evening), but because the bus was crammed full or people, the actual walk-way to the back was too full to even try. So we leaned into the others there, and continued to talk.

For those of you who have not ridden a Metro Bus in LA, the front most seats are transverse seats, meaning they run the length of the bus. After a few of these seats, the seats turn crosswise, and become the usual seats you’ve seen on almost every bus. The front transverse seats serve two purposes; they make it easier for the elderly and handicapped to get off and on the bus, and they can be easily moved aside to make room for a wheelchair.

Well on this night, there happened to be a wheelchair on the bus, with a young lady seated in it. Since the bus was packed, the young lady from the bus stop and I ended up having our conversation almost right on top of the girl in the wheelchair. after a few stops, the conversation was starting to get comments from others on the bus. This is part and parcel of having a conversation in a public situation like a bus. It is one of the few places I know of, where public input is more normal for all but the most private of conversations. So it wasn’t a surprise when others joined in. What was a surprise was when the girl in the wheelchair joined in. She was so sharp, and so interesting, that I ended up talking to her more than anyone else.

The found out the girl in the chair (although to be fair, she would probably prefer the term woman, I just use the term girl to denote she was young enough to be my daughter) was named Jane, and it turned out Jane and I are practically next-door neighbors. She’s an old hand on the bus, so we quickly started talking about other topics. I soon found out that Jane was working on her PhD in Ecology (which I in artfully mistook for Econ. at one point), was bright, vivacious, funny, sad, and just plain good company. Though I road with her on two buses, and one train, including all the elevators and such one need use with a chair (which I normally eschew) I never once got the feeling she was sorry for herself, or thought of herself as anything different than “abled.”

And in every real sense she was just as able as myself. Sure she couldn’t ride a skateboard  (most people cannot ride a skateboard), but she could motor in that chair of hers like you could not believe. She was calm and confident with it, maneuvering it around with a kind of sloppy grace, exactly like the way a buddy of mine (Clark) drives his car.

She never talked about herself negatively, which is rare for any girl. I never once got the feeling that she hung around with the disabled kids. In fact, with the exception of one story about someone she knew, she never once brought up other disabled people. What she did do was tell story after story of roommates, and friends, cooking meals, eating with her hands, living in an apartment, until I got the impression she lived her life very much like every able person lives their lives, just a little lower, and a heck of a lot faster.

When we got off the train, I asked her a few questions about her chair. She proudly spun it around, and showed me some of it features. Later when we were walking back from the last bus, she moved so fast, that my normally fast walk was far too slow to keep up. The entire block I got the distinct impression she was having to wait for the slow kid to catch up!

When she talked, she was very animated, using her whole body at times, craning her neck, twisting her arms, the whole works. I assume this had something to do with her affliction, but I also noticed that at times she would, in mid conversation, use one arm to hold down the other because it was moving too much. She never called attentions to this, nor apologized, or was in any way self-effacing or embarrassed about her motion. Good for her. In fact, I spent the better part of an hour and  a half talking with her, and she never once mentioned why she was in her chair, which is one of the first things most people will tell you.

By the time we parted I was a bit awestruck. Here was a girl who was equal to anyone you could mention, and she knew it. You might not know it, until you started talking with her, but once you did, boy it wasn’t hard to figure out. She was in every was just as able as you and I. The few ways she differs were obviously unimportant in the grand scheme of things, very much like a person with glasses doesn’t think they are disabled because they have to wear corrective lenses. She is not disabled, as she is just as able as you or I. She is just differently abled.

I saw a man get on the bus today. He was younger, maybe 30, had long straight jet black hair (a wig?), and was dressed in all black. Black leather jacket, black gloves with the finger tips cut off, black jeans, sunglasses. His skin was pale, almost white, and he had on black lipstick.

This alone was unusual enough, but to make things weirder he got on the bus holding a doll under one arm. A big doll, more like half a mannequin. My first thought was that he was holding a ventriloquist dummy, for it was about that size and shape, but a closer look made me think differently. The doll was dressed exactly like the man; black leather jacket, black shirt, long straight jet black hair, and the very same black lipstick. Except for the size, and the fact the doll hand no legs, or really anything below the waist, they were almost exactly alike. Well that and the fact that the doll was female.

He got on and sat down near the front, on one of the bench seats that run the length of the bus. As soon as he sat, he placed his doll on his leg, or his lap, and turned her face towards him. Then he put his arms around her, pulled his head in close, and proceeded to talk to her. They were far enough away that I couldn’t hear anything, but it looked for all the world like two young lovers whispering secrets to each other, so enraptured with each others company, faces just scant inches apart, that they were oblivious to their fellow travelers around them.

Except only one of them was human.

The other people on the bus reacted strongly. One lady, looking for all the world like a Jewish grandmother (a common sighting in that area) tut-tuted in disgust, and got off at the very next stop. Others were similarly transfixed. Me, I couldn’t tell if this was some sort of act (and if so, why try to impress people riding a bus), a sort of bizarre performance art, or if I was looking into layers and layers of delusional psychosis; so deep, and so dark that the man could not tell where his personality ended, and where his companion’s began.

The image of those too huddled together was very disturbing. It bothers me even still.