Constant

The bus pulls up to the stop and I climb aboard as I have done for the past few months.  It's nothing new, and I am quite used to it by now.  But this time there is a man on the bus that I have not seen before.  I don't know him at all, but for some reason I like him.  Maybe it is just because of his appearance.  He's dressed in slacks with a pair of nice dress shoes, a button-up shirt tucked in and a belt.  He has a solid, manly beard, and on his head he is wearing a neat, old-fashioned hat.  Everything about him seems to shout integrity, hard-working, honesty, and I just like him.  It's sort of weird.

I sit down, and nod at the man, he returns a nod.  That is all.

The next time I see him, I am once again impressed by his appearance, and for some reason am glad he is aboard the bus.  I sit down and once again there is no real interaction between us except that we acknowledge one another.  I know he remembers me, just as I remember him, though I doubt he has the same strange fascination with me as I do with him.  So once again, a quiet bus ride home, nothing new.

The next time I see him, we actually talk briefly.  I compliment him on his hat, and we exchange the usual pleasantries that are often exchanged by strangers who dare to speak to one another.  The exchange is short, but friendly, and I am happy with it.  I wonder if maybe we will introduce ourselves next time.

But then next time is met with a simple nod and smile from him.  He knows me now for sure, by my face.  But we do not talk this time.  I decide that either we will continue this usual acknowledgment of one another or one day actually know each other's names.  Either way, I don't mind, so long as he is there.  Why?  I have no idea.  I guess, this total stranger has just become a common thing in my life.  He's become a constant.