Only a young Mexican girl got on at the Old Bridge stop. She stood in the rain, waiting for everyone else to get off first. She didn’t have her ticket ready, but Frank said she could pay on the way out. She smiled; he wasn’t sure whether or not she understood. The Mexicans
always
do everything ass-backwards,The Mexicans always do everything ass-backwards, Frank thought, they get off when everyone else gets on and on when everyone else gets off. They come home from cleaning the house that these commuters are going back to.
She took the seat in the front, right behind Frank. She let out a sigh that only he and a few others on the bus could understand, the sigh of someone who sweats for a living. He could see her in his mirror, with her soaked hair. They could’ve at-least waited for the bus, he thought of the white woman that must’ve drove her to the stop, after a day of watching her annoying kids. She wasn’t beautiful, the girl, but there was something about her face that kept making Frank’s eyes drift back to him mirror. There’s something beautiful about the experienced face, the face that has seen a lot and has suffered a lot, it possesses an enticing look of knowledge.
When they passed a car accident on the road, everyone’s heads turned to get a better look, some even got out of their seats to get closer to the windows on the right side. But, as Frank maneuvered the scene with one eye and watched her with another, the girl only crossed herself and then looked away, her eyes staring off into nowhere.
Reaching her stop, she still hadn’t paid for the ride and began digging through her worn out purse to get cash. As he brought the bus slowly to a stop, she got up and handed him a wad of money, with some change in the middle, their hands touched briefly as he took it.
“Gracias” he said, as she walked off. Not really sure why he said it.
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great sketch