Leading with his back, the tension of exertion apparent in
his 9 to 11 year old frame, the boy, pausing only to lift, then pull on the
handles of one of those large shopping bags on wheels, boarded the bus. He was followed by a female guardian
balancing two very large shopping bags on each shoulder.
Appearing to be of Hispanic descent, the facial features
above their face masks and the way they would later engage with each other had
me thinking they were mother and son.
Seeing an open seat right at the front of the bus, the boy
gratefully sank into it. Watching him as
she guided one of her bags to the ground, I saw the mother’s eyes sparkle with
amusement and felt her smiling behind her face mask.
When a passenger exited at the next stop, the mom, her shoulder
still carrying the weight of the other bag, crossed in front of the boy, sat on
his right and shifted the bag onto her lap.
He was tired and she acknowledged it. Eyes still a twinkle,
she reached out and with great care, great affection, combed her left hand
through his short, thick black hair.
When her hand came to rest on his left shoulder, he turned towards the
arm, briefly leaning his head against the length of it; a gesture that spoke to
me of a young boy comfortable in receiving affection and, despite how tired he
was, glad to be able to assist his mother.
In their silent exchange I felt a communication of love,
value and a sense of being present with each other from both sides.
When they reached their stop, he glanced at the bag she had
placed on the ground and then back up at her; a silent request for her to exit
first.
As the bus pulled away from their stop and continued south, last I saw of them, they stood on the sidewalk, side by side, facing north, his hands on the shopping bag’s handles, her shoulders once again bearing the weight of the two large bags. I hoped it was the final leg of their journey home.