I get a lot of enjoyment out of watching people on the bus. This is something I wrote last year about that people watching. My goal for the next week is to really see at least one person on the bus every day and then write about them here.
The Drummer
His face is a picture of concentration, eyes closed tight, thin straight nose, lips moving so slightly together and apart with the down beat. He slaps and pounds his knees and the seat next to him, alternating between palm and finger tips with his left hand. A leather brace impedes his right hand, but still he pounds away, wrist and forearm and palm rendered into one unmoving block.
I am watching from my seat in the back, but he doesn’t notice with his eyes closed tight and his head swinging and bouncing from his curved down neck. He doesn’t notice, so I watch without trying to hide my watching and I am fascinated. I am fascinated with the dirty grey stocking cap pulled down to his eyebrows. I am fascinated with the stains on the fingers of his brace, how they shine with oil and are bent back from the relentless pounding of hand on leg and seat edge. I am fascinated with the concentration and oblivion and joy.
Without opening his eyes, he pulls the cord. The bus’s breaks squeal as it stops. His eyes open and he stands up on the one and swings around the pole and out the door. As the bus pulls away, I watch him disappear behind us, and it is two more stops before I realize that my feet are still tapping to his rhythm.
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