The Bus Driver and the New Girl

When I first came to DC I took the 52 bus to work. Most of the riders on the 52 bus were Latinos or African Americans, and I felt like an interloper. It was their bus, and I didn't belong. I was white, new to DC, and new to the bus. I tried to be invisible, just blend in, but I had red hair, so . . . .

What the bus driver said to me changed everything.

The driver on the 8:35 bus, my bus, was an African American with a salt and pepper beard. Well, all bus drivers in DC are African American, of course, but I thought I should put that in there for those of you readers who don’t live here.

I’d been taking the bus for a few months, then one week I drove to work because my boss had given me her parking pass to use while she was out. (Without the parking pass, $15/day; hence, the bus.)

But after a week of parking in the underground lot at work, I was back waiting for bus 52 at 14th and Irving, like always. It was the driver with the salt and pepper beard. When I climbed the steps and shoved my dollar in the slot, it happened. He said, “We missed you lately!” I was stunned. He recognized me? He knew I hadn’t been there?

As I worked my way back to find a seat, I heard his words again and again: “We missed you lately.” He knew me! The morning sang.

Maybe they all knew me—hard to be invisible, after all, being one of the only white riders, and with red hair, to boot. Maybe they thought this was my bus, too. The 52 bus. My bus.