the bus ride

there was nothing coming down the tracks. I stood tapping my foot awkwardly to my music, waiting for the 8.27 to Hoboken to arrive so my morning could begin. I wrestled my cell phone out of my bag to check the time again – 8.29, nothing new. the 8.27 is rarely on time.

I heard the crackle of a speaker and a woman’s voice come out of nowhere. the disembodied voice announced that due to “operator difficulties” the 8.27 eastbound to Hoboken would be experiencing indefinite delays. the speaker crackled again and shut off, leaving a handful of commuters confused.

some picked up their cell phones and started to dial. others made a beeline for the bus station feet away. I just stood there, wondering if the announcement could have been any more vague. a few more minutes pass, and I finally decide to head back to my car. decisions could be made at home, instead of standing in the cold.

halfway across the parking lot, I heard the whistle I’d been waiting the past twenty minutes for. I raced back to the platform, where the train conductor was explaining the problem.

it seems someone had walked in front of the train in River Edge. the conductor told us our train had turned into a shuttle to Westwood, where we could get off and take a bus into the city. most of us obliged, being sort of blind-sided by the news.

we rolled slowly into the next town and walked to the bus stop. it didn’t take long for one to arrive, and we shuffled slowly up the stairs and into cramped, but comfortable seats. the whole thing felt strange, foreign. there was a sign behind the driver’s seat that read “do not feed or annoy the bus driver”. I couldn’t really fathom what incidents prompted the posting of that sign. we weaved our way slowly through towns, heading toward the turnpike. as we came upon the site of the accident, I fought the urges to look and see what could be spotted.

I felt every bump and pothole the bus drove over. I tried to ignore my nauseousness by immersing myself in the new sights of the bus ride. unfortunately, the turnpike offered very little visual stimulation.

within half an hour, we’d reached Port Authority. I stumbled down some steps, pretending I knew my way around. I followed signs and crowds of people to the 1.