Characters

I was looking for a particular image that was filed away on my Web server when I discovered this short essay I had written and submitted to a then-upcoming book of knitting-related stories. (Mine didn't make it. Apparently they were only looking for nauseating, inspirational blather.) Back then, I usually took the 8 Express back and forth to work and saw many of the same people on both ends of the commute.

While not a loner, per se, I have always preferred my own company over just about anyone else's. On the bus, I prefer to sit alone and read, something that was usually do-able on the somewhat unpopular Express. Unfortunately, reading in peace and quiet was almost impossible once the bus reached York and Bellona where the person I referred to as Chicken Woman--for her annoying cackle--and her gaggle of guffawing goons boarded, commandeering the handicapped seats at the front. The sonorous windbag would hold court, trumpeting the boring events of her ordinary life to those held in her thrall, laughing riotously after every proclamation. While she merely annoyed me when I first starting taking the Express, my feelings toward her became a full-blown hatred a few months later as I struggled to accept my mother's recent death. Chicken Woman's constant crowing seemed somehow disrespectful to my memories, to me, and to everyone else on that bus.

A few years later, the 8 Express was re-routed to a much less-scenic area of town. While I didn't appreciate the new view of burned-out buildings and trash-strewn streets, I felt exultant that the route was not convenient for Chicken Woman and much of her brood. For several years I have been free of that obnoxious woman and her mouth.

I do see her board the bus every once in a rare while. She looks about, perhaps to find someone with whom to yammer on about nothing. After the years of evil eye from me, she knows better than to even look my way, which satisfies me immensely.

Posted by theminx on MTA Diaries.